


Seafarer's Revenge

by theotpeffect



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Execution, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Past Relationship(s), Prince!Marco, Swordfighting, pirate!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotpeffect/pseuds/theotpeffect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean, a wanderlust-stricken pirate, has been accused for a crime he did not commit- the murder of Trost's Prince. Marco, a young King-to-be and the Prince's brother, has been tasked with overseeing Jean in an attempt to find who really committed this treasonous crime. They must put a stop to the suspect's thirst for revenge, while also possibly quenching their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seafarer's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story and thanks for [mochia](http://mochiartemisa.tumblr.com/%20%20), who came up with the headcanon for this, which devolved into me writing this monster, and for beta reading after a long wait on her part. And also a thanks to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEmy2DBaeTc) for slapping me in the face with the theme of this story and consequently inspiring its title, and for [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urV8MIcLDFk) for inspiring the scene with the sirens! :D
> 
>  _Important Note: ___there is a graphic depiction of a hanging in this story. If you think you'll be squicked or triggered I recommend ctrl+f from "Marco awoke to laughter and the clinking of glasses." to "Marco looked out over the railing of his balcony"

               The sea was Jean’s home. Every night he was greeted with the pink hue of the setting sun and every day he felt the breeze seep into his clothes and caress his skin with the cool air. He could feel the bump of the waves and smell the salt of the ocean as his ship glided over it, taking him away to his next adventure. And he had many of those.

                He had gone to far-off islands and found so much treasure that he and the rest of his crew wouldn’t need to work for many years. Being a pirate certainly had its perks. And Jean savored them, especially the constant presence of the sea.

                But there were times he needed to return to land, unfortunately.

                Connie, the short bald man of their ship, scouted the horizon for the kingdom they were to be heading towards. Everyone else was strolling through the ship, making sure the things they needed for their short escapade were packed and ready for their departure.

                “Jean!” Reiner boomed. Jean turned, directing his attention towards his second in command, who was steering the ship through the small waves lapping at the hull. He was a bulky man of average height and Jean’s most trusted crew member. He simply pointed to the crow’s nest, where Connie was currently perched.

                Jean looked up and saw Connie waving and jumping, relying on a flurry of movement to catch their attention as his voice was certainly not as loud as Reiner’s.

                “I see it now!” Connie shouted, his voice muffled from the wind and the splashing of the sea. “It’s a few leagues ahead! I can see the spires of the castle now!”

                He grabbed a rope and slid down to the deck in a mere moment. He seemed to enjoy swinging around the deck rather than walking. No one bothered him about it anymore, not even the worrisome Armin, their small blonde chef.

                Connie scrambled up to Reiner and directed him to where he should turn the ship. Their direction altered slightly with a creak, and they were on their way to the kingdom of Trost.

 

\---

 

                By the time Jean’s crew was dropping their anchor and clambering out of their ship, it was evening and the sky colored the ocean with its pink and orange paints. Jean yearned to be out again, to feel the power of the sea rock the ship as he drifted off to sleep, but they needed more food and drink.

                He and his crew wandered off into the city, Reiner and Bertl going off on their own. Jean hoped they actually went searching for supplies instead of taking advantage of their time alone. Their relationship was no secret, especially in the close quarters of the ship at night.

                Armin and Connie also branched off, each with their pockets full of precious jewels and gold to be traded with. And Jean was left to wander alone in the night and yearn yet again for the security of the sea.

                Land had begun to feel foreign to him. It was solid underfoot, more than the vast ocean would ever be, but there was no beauty in the dirt and mud that coated his boots or in the sharp sound of his feet across the cobblestone streets. And even though the ground did not move, he could still feel the sway of the boat, uncomfortable on his walk across land. This was not where he belonged.

                “Halt!” a commanding voice shouted from in front of him.

                The silhouettes of men, their features hidden by the long shadows cast by the setting sun, marched from the alley way set in front of him. They wore armor and held spears in their hands, some of them pointing towards Jean’s chest.

                Jean slowly raised his hands in front of his chest. “What seems to be the problem?”

                A single man stepped forward, shackles clinking as he held them in front of him. “You will be tried for the death of the Prince.”

                “What?” Jean’s jaw dropped and he began to back away. He had only visited this kingdom twice before and it was only because of an old friend. Or rather an old enemy.

                He was seized from behind and shoved forward. Strong hands used to holding heavy swords and spears kept him from moving his arms as the shackles were clamped around his wrists.

                “What the hell? I’m not a murderer!” he shouted. It was true, he had stolen and fought but he had never killed anyone. But just being a pirate seemed to strip any reliability he might have had, had he been just a traveler. The soldiers carried on as if he had never spoken, dragging him deeper into the city.

 

\---

 

                He was blindfolded at some point, plunged into the dark and tripping over things only to be roughly yanked up and dragged along until he regained his footing. And no matter how hard he tried to be composed, he could feel his legs quiver underneath him. He had been accused of thievery, all of which were founded accusations, and he usually got a fee he would skip out on, before enforcers came to his ship in the dead of night, asking for money he was unwilling to share with people outside of his crew. But this was different. He was being accused of a heinous crime- the murder of royalty. If he were to be found guilty, and being a pirate despite his innocence made that seem quite likely, he would be hung.

                “Where are you taking me?” he tried again. He was confused, their steps sounded sharper and there was a low murmur of voices surrounding them now. But his question was ignored as it was every time.

                He was pushed to the ground instead, hard marble cracking against his knees unpleasantly as his blindfold was finally ripped off of him. His arms were tugged back and a clang of metal sounded behind him. He strained his neck to see that there was a pole set between his hands, effectively trapping him further with his shackles. He pulled once on his chains before sighing in defeat.

                “Jean Kirschtein?” a voice said before him.

                Jean snapped his head back in front of him, to see a man sitting powerfully on a chair behind a large desk, dressed in a judge’s robe and holding a gavel in one hand. He regarded some papers in front of him, reading them over the bridge of his nose before peaking up at Jean with disapproving eyes.

                “I have a source that tells me you were once part of the navy,” the judge continued. “Why would someone fall from such a noble career to become a lowly pirate?”

                “Being in the navy wasn’t exactly my cup of tea,” Jean growled. He let his eyes slide around the room, trying to wrap his head around where he was. He had only _just_ arrived onto the island, only to be blindfolded and then dumped unceremoniously into an unfamiliar court room.

                “Why not?” the judge continued.

                Jean regarded him carefully, before deciding it was in his best interest to be truthful. “I wasn’t out at sea as much as I wanted to be. And there were times when I was unsure of the lawfulness of my colleagues.”

                “And who were they?”

                “I don’t remember their names.”

                He only remembered one.

                “During that time, did you ever step foot in this kingdom?”

                “Yes,” Jean said. “But it was only once, to deliver a criminal to your prisons.”

                And once more after he had left the navy for personal reasons. But it was a short trip that didn’t even last a day.

                “Did you come into contact with Prince Leonardo in that time?”

                “No,” Jean said.

                A small murmur began to rise in the crowd. People shook their heads and crossed their arms, muttering that he was a liar under their breaths. Obviously, the Prince must have done something to upset Jean during his short stays in the kingdom. Maybe the Prince didn’t give him a coin while he was groveling at his feet, maybe he asked for more than the Holy Prince could give and had become bitter.

                With the increased shuffle of the people in the stands, even the guards began to get excited and inched further towards Jean, the tips of their spears slowly lowering as time went on.

                The judge banged the gavel sharply, calming everyone so he could continue to question Jean. 

                “There’s no use lying, there was a reliable source who claimed they saw you climbing out of the Prince’s window on the night of his death. He described your face perfectly and even gave us your name.”

                “Well, your source must be lying. Unless the Prince is overly fond of men and was in a different country, possibly the sea, I don’t think there was a chance that I was in his bedroom that night.”

                There was a gasp in the courtroom and a few women fanned themselves frantically with their hands.

                “I would suggest being careful with your words,” the judge growled.

                Jean silenced himself at that, knowing it was best for him to value brevity and cooperation for the remainder of the trial.

                The trial dragged on for a long time, the judge droning on about questions that didn’t matter in Jean’s opinion. He wasn’t entirely sure the judge was competent, and just as Jean was truly beginning to wonder if it would be okay to daydream, the judge called a witness forward- the Prince’s darling little brother, Marco.

                “Prince Marco,” the judge began. “Do you recognize this man as someone who had a grudge against your brother? Or do you recognize him at all?”

                Marco studied him, his eyebrows scrunching together in thought. Jean only could wonder whether or not he would lie, just to get the trial over with. Maybe _Marco_ was the one who assassinated his brother, Jean entertained. After all, he was the next in line to be King, from what he gathered, and if his brother died, well no one would stand in his way. And if Jean was found guilty, being accused of murder was one less thing for him to worry over.

                Jean was brought back from his daydreams of treachery and betrayal by a loud and decisive, “No.”

                The judge blanched. “You don’t think this man would have a reason to harm your brother?”

                “No, I don’t think so,” Prince Marco continued. “I doubt he would even consider the deed. What good would killing a Prince do him? He would be no closer to the crown now than before, anyhow. And my brother wasn’t one to make enemies.”

                Jean admired his calm. He certainly wasn’t able to muster calmness at the moment.

                “You don’t think he would be capable of murder simply for the sick joy of it?” the judge spat, glaring down at Jean from his mighty position. “He is a _pirate_ , after all.”

                “No, sir, I don’t think that,” Prince Marco continued.

                _Thank you,_ Jean thought. He was no murderer.

                But the rest of the court was not in agreement with Prince Marco. There were exasperated scoffs and disappointed shaking of their heads. There were more than a few choice words thrown at Jean about what filth he was. Everyone in the kingdom knew he was guilty, after all. If only the poor prince wasn’t so struck by grief, maybe he could be more rational. The upset murmurs of the onlookers buzzed through the courtroom but the Prince seemed to stand by his opinion, his face hardened in conviction.

                Jean was beginning to like the Prince. He had a strong sense of justice, or at least one that would allow Jean to escape punishment.

                “You believe he’s innocent then?”

                “Yes, wholeheartedly.”

                The court room became louder and the judge struck down his gavel once, making the room return to its angry buzz.

                “We can’t allow him to go. He’s still a suspect in the murder of your brother.”

                Marco paused at that. It seemed he hadn’t anticipated this statement. He glanced towards Jean and considered him for a moment before turning towards him properly, blocking the rest of the court once he turned his back to them.

                “Do you think there’s someone out there that may want to frame you?” the Prince asked.

                Jean simply stared at him for a moment, surprised that someone of such a high status would speak directly to him. But when the Prince’s eyebrow quirked and he took a careful step closer, leaning down to hear better, Jean raced for an answer.

                He had probably angered many people during his time as a pirate, but there was only one person that may have wanted to frame him; one person who had ever known that Jean had visited for a brief while. But Jean wasn’t sure that he would go as far as to kill someone, the heir to the throne no less, solely to frame him.

                “There could be one,” Jean answered reluctantly.

                “Are you sure? Could it be someone else?”

                Jean paused. He wasn’t sure. He supposed people he had known in the navy could have framed him, but he was sure the times his face was fresh in their minds was long gone. He was even surer that very few even remembered his name. He kept to himself during those times. He only wanted to travel the sea and experience adventure, not make new friends.

                “There could be a few, but they hardly seem like likely options,” Jean answered finally.

                The Prince nodded and turned back to the judge.

                “We have a lead then,” the Prince continued. Jean resisted the urge to laugh, because it was hardly a lead at all. “So let us travel and find the murderer of my brother.”

                There was a collective gasp throughout the crowd and Jean was sure his was also added. Even the judge blanched.

                “Y-You are free to come and go as you please, I do not need to allow you to leave. But this _pirate_ must be kept. He’s suspected in your brother’s _murder.”_

                Marco winced, his cool attitude cracking for only a second, “Then give me the task of overseeing him. He’s our only lead. And I believe he could bring me to who I need.”

                The judge considered for a moment. “You don’t need to do this. We can send soldiers to keep an eye on him in your stead, while your father and yourself take care of the kingdom.”

                “No, I would like to do this,” the Prince said.

                Jean didn’t like it. He wasn’t letting a grieving Prince onto his ship. It was no place for a person like him. With his royal upbringing it was likely that he was sheltered. Maybe he knew how to properly handle a sword, but Jean doubted he was someone who knew how to handle _himself_ during a real fight, when the flurry of action could cloud the mind.

                And Jean _definitely_ doubted the dear Prince knew his way around a ship.

                “I need a moment to deliberate,” the judge announced. He stood and as soon as he was out of sight, everyone began to shake loose from their forced quiet and move around, speaking about how the poor Prince must be truly suffering if he was willing to go to seas with a _pirate_.

                The Prince himself seemed to ignore the comments, as he retired to a secluded part of the courtroom.

                And Jean was stuck by himself, crouching in the middle of the room and trying to ignore the glares of everyone. As if it was somehow _his_ fault that the Prince voluntarily decided to do something abhorrently stupid. Jean himself wasn’t even for the idea. But of course, he was only a pirate. And based off of the hisses he heard accompany his name, it was quite common knowledge of what he had allegedly done.

                Finally, after a few more minutes of completely unfounded glaring, the judge returned and the Prince went back to his place next to Jean.

                “It has been decided,” the judge announced. Jean leaned forward as much as he could in his bounded state, eager for the results. But mostly eager to hear that the Prince would not go on the trip with Jean, and that Jean could go free, although that last part seemed fairly unlikely.

                “You will be responsible for looking after the pirate as he searches for the murderer of Prince Leonardo. If the both of you don’t return in a month with the murderer in handcuffs, then Jean Kirstein will be executed.”

                Jean tried to stifle his groan.

                He didn’t want to go on some noble journey with a Prince. He simply wanted to be out to sea, with the wind caressing his hair and the sound of the waves to lull him to sleep. He didn’t care _who_ killed their Prince. These politics were none of his concern and if his suspicions about who the real killer was were true, well, he was even more reluctant to want to go on this foolish mission.

                Everyone filtered out, murmuring their thoughts on the entire case. The majority of what Jean heard seemed to reflect negatively on him and the Prince’s decision, unsurprisingly.

                Finally, when it was only Jean and the Prince, a guard came over, freeing him from his chains and forced him to stand, before leaving with everyone else after the Prince nodded to him.

                The Prince strode up to Jean, seeming a bit nervous. Jean wasn’t sure if that was because he was a pirate or not.

                The boy seemed to be the kind who wouldn’t survive one day out on the sea. Jean’s ship was no place for a person like him.

                “I’m Marco Bodt,” the Prince introduced himself. “I hope it would be alright if I joined you and your crew.”

                Jean studied him, sized him up, wondered just how much this person missed their brother in order to go on a hair brained adventure such as this.

                “No,” Jean started. “It really wouldn’t be alright. You’re not someone who can survive on my ship.”

                The Prince frowned, but he still didn’t seem upset. “I’m just trying to bring justice to what happened to my brother. I’m asking for your help, please, allow me to go with you.”

                Jean almost wavered then. He didn’t have a family, no one he would give his life for because they were related in blood. But he was protective of his crew. And if one of them were to be killed, he was sure he would be just as stubborn, if not more.

                But- “You don’t belong on the sea. I’ll deliver the murderer to you, fine, but not with you.”

                Jean left then, not allowing the Prince to speak another word.

                As Jean left, the heavy courtroom door slamming behind him, he found himself pitying the Prince. Maybe the rest of the kingdom wasn’t so unfounded in their concern over the grief their heir was feeling.

                But it wasn’t his problem. _His_ problem was wrangling up his crew and getting the hell out of Trost.

                He cut through alleyways, turning sharp corners and nearly running through the city. He was jittery and more than ready to return to the sea.

                The streets were unfamiliar to him, not having explored much during his brief stays there. He was forced to aimlessly jog through them, eager to leave and forget about his trial as quickly as possible.

                Luckily, he found Reiner and Bertl soon because of his quick pace. Although, when he got there he wasn’t quite sure how lucky he was as the two of his crew members were quite… preoccupied. In a secluded alley way they seemed to be getting quite excited as they were wrapped up in each other and Jean probably would have left slightly traumatized, given a different situation.

                Jean cleared his throat loudly, causing the two to jump apart and knock over their bag of goods.

                “Change of plans,” Jean said once he had their attention trained on him. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

                Bertl’s hands seemed to flutter in front of him for a moment, embarrassed at having been caught. “R-right now? Why?”

                “Let’s just say I’ve gotten into some trouble and we may or may not be welcome here ever again,” Jean said. “The point is, we need to get the hell out of this damn kingdom as quickly as possible.”

                “Should we find the others?” Reiner asked.

                Jean grunted his approval. “And pick up some more supplies if you can. We might be out at sea for a long while.”

                Reiner nodded and slipped out of the alley, with Bertl at his side. Jean continued his search before he came across Armin, who was speaking with someone, a heavy sack slung over one of his shoulders.

                Once he spotted Jean he waved and gestured for the man to wait. But Jean slipped away before the innkeeper could catch a good glimpse of his face, for fear that he too had heard of the Prince’s alleged killer. Armin scrunched his eyebrows once Jean slipped into an alleyway but followed him nonetheless.

                “Jean,” Armin said, “That man is willing to give us lodging for the night, if you wish for us to stay.”

                Jean shook his head. “Our plans have changed. We won’t be needing any lodging.”

                “What’s wrong? You seem a little more unsettled than you usually are on land,” Armin said. He huddled closer to Jean and grasped onto his sleeve.

                “I’ll explain everything,” Jean said and when Armin stood expectantly, Jean waved him off. “The idea around here is that I’ve committed some _very_ treasonous act. So right now, we need to get away. Quickly. Before someone decides to throw me in jail, or worse.”

                Armin’s eyes widened and he blocked Jean’s path. “ _What_ did you do?”

                “ _Nothing,”_ Jean said. “Gods, I’ve only been here for a few hours and everyone thinks I might have committed some heinous crime.”

                Armin shook his head. “You _will_ tell me what happened later.”

                “Yes, mother,” Jean sighed and went to look for Connie, hoping that he wasn’t causing a disturbance again. He had enough trouble to deal with already.

 

\---

 

                Jean’s crew had been gathered, as well as the supplies they’d gotten from the few stores that had still been open in the late night. They had to make a few trips back and forth, with even Jean slipping in and out of the shadows to snag some things. But they managed to procure most of what they needed before they began getting ready to begin their trip once again.

                Jean and his crew bustled about, raising the anchors, unfurling the sails and securing the ship before finally, _finally_ untying it from the docks. And with a gust of morning wind, they were off.

                Jean looked over the horizon, feeling much less anxious and much more clear-headed. He wasn’t quite sure what he had been thinking, agreeing to go on this scatter brained journey. He wasn’t even sure where the person who framed him _was._ They hadn’t spoken to or heard word of each other in years. And Jean honestly didn’t have any desire to hear of him either. But he had to, somehow, just to make sure. Just to see if he had really gone as far as this to get back at him. Over what? Over nothing.

                No. No that wasn’t right. Over a betrayal.

                Jean sighed and brushed his hair back with a shaky hand and gazed off into the horizon. He wondered what he would experience this time. Finding a murderer certainly wasn’t something he had done before.

                He shook his head and forced himself to not think of it yet. Instead, he watched as the sun rose. 

 

\---

 

                It was the afternoon of the crew’s first day back at sea. Jean still hadn’t told them of what happened, but he was planning to later that day. Perhaps at dinner, when they all could be easily called together.

                Jean didn’t have much to do until then however, the skies were clear and the sea was steady. Everyone else was slightly bored as well, save for Armin who managed to entertain himself greatly with the books he’d collected over the years.

                Jean, with nothing better to do, decided he was going to check their treasury and see how much they had. Although he would never count the exact amount willingly, sometimes it was just nice to gaze at his wealth and maybe fool around with the jewelry and clothing they had stolen.

                Jean descended into the lower parts of the ship, his boots thumping heavily on the steep set of stairs.

                He entered the treasure room quietly. It looked the same as always, gold and precious jewelry piled high, mixed in with other regal items such as crowns and silk clothing and maps that had yet to take him to a faraway land.

                He sighed in content and began to pick through it absently. He was certainly bored but maybe he could find something interesting to play with.

                There was a clink of metal against metal and he finally lifted his head, properly observing the corner from which the noise came. And there he was.

                Prince Marco was huddled in the corner, his face scrunched in a wince as he glanced over to Jean.

                The Prince wasn’t in typical attire. He was shrouded in a black cloak, his normal tight pants and button up white shirt, traded out for an Arabic type piece of clothing that looked much like a dress. A fairly somber one at that, as it was all in black, just a shade lighter than his cloak.

                “What the hell?” Jean exclaimed.

                The Prince winced again and lifted his hands in an attempt to placate him. “Please, look, I didn’t mean to-“

                “To what, sneak aboard my ship?” Jean growled.

                “Well, no, I meant to do that,” Prince Marco said with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. When Jean only glared harder at him he sighed. “I didn’t mean to insult your authority by coming aboard-” Jean snorted. “- but I _needed_ to. Captain Kirschtein, I don’t think you understand how important this is to me.”

                Jean appreciated the “Captain Kirschtein.” He and his crew were familiar enough around each other to have dropped formalities long ago. It was nice to hear it again. It made him feel in control, like he knew what he was doing.

                But just because the Prince treated him with respect didn’t mean he had to go easy on him. Prince Marco, with all his seeming kindness and wisdom, didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

                Jean pinched the bridge of his nose and forced his eyes closed. “Do you even know what being on a pirate ship entails?”

                Prince Marco shuffled and looked down, “Not really.”

                “Then why would you think that you could be of use on this ship?” Jean asked coldly. The Prince flinched at that.

                He shrugged and peaked up for a moment. “I do know how to fight.”

                “That’s something at least,” Jean sighed. “Well, I can’t very well kick you off. Fine. I’ll have Armin teach you the basics of living on this ship.”

                “Thank you,” he said, seeming relieved.

                “Don’t think I’m doing this for you,” Jean snapped. “I’m already accused of killing your brother. How would it look for me if suddenly the other Prince ended up missing? When he was supposed to be on _my_ ship?”

                “Right,” Prince Marco said quietly, lowering his eyes again and hiding his hands behind his back, like a scolded child.

                “Come on,” Jean said, not unkindly. He turned and made his way back to the deck, hearing the Prince’s heavy footsteps behind him. Jean glanced over his shoulder at him once he opened the door. The sea air hit them again refreshingly. It was much less stuffy, and gave Jean a much needed, clean breath of air.

                Jean breathed in deeply and smiled a little to himself. 

                Marco seemed less euphoric and more stunned. It was his first time out to sea, and he looked around in awe. The sights were much different from what he was used to. Looking at the ocean and actually _being_ on it didn’t hold the same effect in his opinion. He felt less anchored here, like he could go anywhere, or float off into the sky and never come back. And in that moment, it was quite tempting to him. _Was this how Jean felt all the time?_ he wondered.

                Jean had recovered for the moment and barked at his crew. “Listen up everyone!”

                Connie’s head was the first to peep over his little nest of ropes somewhere up high. Reiner was steering and could clearly see them, puzzled at the sight of the newcomer that was most definitely not with them when they left. Bertl and Armin rushed up the stairs from the kitchen, each holding a partially eaten fruit and seeming a bit panicked. They were no strangers to having to drop everything in lieu of an attack or an approaching ship.

                “It seems we’ve gotten ourselves a stowaway,” Jean continued. “Armin!”

                “Y-yes?” Armin said, straightening at sound of his name.

                “Teach him what he’ll be doing if we ever have to prepare for a raid, or must dock or drop anchor,” Jean said. “Or during those fun little storms that pop up every now and then.”

                Jean physically pushed Marco forward. He tried not to laugh as he and Armin stared at each other with wide eyes, the both of them opening and closing their mouths, unsure what to say. Jean wondered how Marco would have ever gotten through political meetings if he greeted everyone the same way.

                Although, it seemed the both of them were out of their element. Armin was usually calm and collected, even in times of danger. He was the one who made sure everything ran smoothly in the background, so nothing preventable could be the cause of some disaster. And Prince Marco- well, Jean didn’t know him. But he supposed even if he was well-spoken, he was on a pirate ship. With smelly men and food he _needed_ to eat before it would rot and a worry in the back of his mind over gray clouds in the distance that could end up being much more. That could throw any sheltered monarch for a loop.

                Jean dismissed his crew at that and went downstairs to look at maps and try to read an enemy’s mind.

 

\---

 

                Jean had gone to sleep with much less hair than he had woken up with hours before. Finding him, the one who could have killed Marco’s brother, was much harder than he thought it would be. The sea was endless, something that Jean admired about it, but that night as he wound down in his bed he was frustrated with its vastness.

                The stress followed him through his dreams. He was blind and could not see more than a few feet in front of him as shadows lurked beyond his field of vision. It left him unsettled, not knowing what was out there. Or _who_.

                And when he woke he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth and a chill skittering down his spine.

                He quickly got dressed and stumbled out on the deck, in hopes for some type of solace, being able to see for miles in either direction, the water rocking him back and forth as if he were still a babe in a crib.

                The sea air was a relief when it hit him. And for a few minutes he felt peaceful again, beasts and murderers left behind in the stuffy dark of his cabin.

                He scanned the horizon and was mildly surprised when a form blocked a piece of it from his view. No one woke as early as Jean unless something was troubling the whole crew, a sickness or a storm. But there was none of that, no one else knew what they were possibly up against. It was only another adventure and Jean tried his hardest to convince himself of the same.

                The figure shifted, leaned against the railing and hung their head. Too short to be Reiner or Bertl, far too tall to be Connie or Armin.

                The Prince brought a hand up to scrub at his face before looking over the sky as it transformed into lighter shades. Jean couldn’t see much of his face, but he seemed sad. His mouth was turned down into a small frown unfitting of him and his posture was slumped, his hands dangling over the railings and his shoulders hunched in.

                Jean hesitated a moment before joining him, settling just far enough away to not be too intrusive. But close enough to reach out and touch, if he wanted.

                Marco turned to him, a smile back on his face before nodding over to the sea. “Is this the view you have every morning?”

                Jean nodded, following his gaze as it shifted from Jean to the waves, to the edge of the world.

                “It’s beautiful,” Marco breathed.

                “Certainly one of the perks of being out here,” Jean answered.

                They continued to stare in silence. Watching the waves rise and fall as if the water was breathing. And for Jean, he stared as if he could be taken to wherever he looked if he wished hard enough.

                “Is this why?” Marco said eventually. “Why you’re always out at sea? It isn’t the piracy, it’s… this.”

                Jean shifted slightly towards Marco. “Yes, partially. I guess it’s also because I feel safe here. I’m at peace. I’m home.” 

                Marco shifted his gaze towards Jean, his expression the same as when he was gazing at the vastness of the sea. Fear or admiration twinkling in his eyes, Jean wasn’t sure which. Maybe it was both.

                “Why did you decided to become a pirate then?” Marco asked after a beat. “Was this all the reason you needed?”

                “Yes,” Jean answered immediately. “Well, there’s more to it I suppose. When I was in the navy, Reiner and Bertl’s captain was killed by my men. By then I _hated_ it in the navy. It was too restricting, I was in an office filling out paperwork more than I was actually out at sea. And I think Reiner sensed my disdain. We became friends while they were under custody. And already being more than ready to leave, I helped them escape and we began this crew together. That was my incentive at the time, just- _leaving_. But now, I think the sea is what keeps me here. That, and the gold isn’t too bad either.”

                “Buried treasure?” Marco asked breathlessly. As if a story from his childhood had just come true. And that might have certainly been the case.        

                “ _Stolen_ treasure,” Jean answered with a crooked smile. “Only the real lunatics bury their treasure.”

                “But you still have to explore for that treasure. You still get to travel the world,” Marco said, turning his wistful gaze back to the horizon.

                “Maybe not the world. There are some places even I wouldn’t tread now,” Jean said quietly.

                “Like where?” Marco questioned.

                Jean hesitated, wondering whether or not he really wanted to share.

                “Eris’ domain,” he said finally. “Nothing good ever comes from it.”

                “I can imagine she would present some less than savory experiences for people,” Marco said quietly. He grimaced and backed away from the edge just a little, as if he would be sucked under just _thinking_ of the things Eris would like to do to him.

                “Don’t worry, I doubt she’s much interested in you,” Jean said with a wry smile. “I’ve certainly caused some calamity, some chaos. But you- you seem too… saintly to be of much interest to Eris.”

                “Maybe,” Marco said hesitantly. “But because of my position, I really haven’t been given the chance to experience chaos or anything of the sort directly.”

                Jean stared intently at the waters below them. “You wouldn’t want that experience.”

                He left the conversation at that, becoming too restless to stay and talk.

                Past chaos and strife swirled in his head, where it was unwanted, and he needed to move, to forget as well as he could. He was frozen though, and unable to do much besides frantically twist his plain silver ring over and over again. The action was futile and it seemed as if Eris herself was lurking in the back of his mind, forcing him to remember.

                Forcing him to remember Eren.

                They had been friends until Jean had let Reiner and Bertl go and become a pirate himself. And, oh, did Eren hate pirates.

                They had killed his mother, made his father disappear. And his best friend had committed the ultimate betrayal by becoming one of them. Eren had loved him enough to nearly kill him for it.

 

\---

 

                Jean tried to keep throughout the rest of the day, but during its end he was at a loss at what to do. Until Armin came striding up to him, purposeful and wearing his we-need-to-speak frown.

                Jean only had time to turn to him fully before he went straight to what was on his mind. Jean appreciated it.

                “You never told me why you were so desperate to leave Trost,” he stated. “I’ve let you have a day to think, because I thought it may have been serious enough for you to be hesitant to speak of. But I don’t think you should keep it from us any longer. What happened, Jean?”

                 “I may or may not have gotten myself into a serious mix-up,” Jean replied. At Armin’s disappointed sigh he snapped to his own defense. “It’s hardly my fault. I had nothing at all to do with- with this thing.”

                “ _Jean,”_ Armin said, staring Jean down for further explanation.

                “I should be telling this to the whole crew. You all deserve to know. It’s the reason for this trip, and it’s the reason Marco is here as well.”

                Armin looked puzzled. “I thought he was a stowaway.”

                “He certainly wasn’t supposed to be here, true,” Jean said. “But it’s no coincidence that _he’s_ our little stowaway.”

                “I’ll gather everyone up, then,” Armin sighed.

                Jean nodded and went to sit in his office, where everyone usually gathered when he was playing captain. He bid his time there, preparing the small speech he was to deliver. However, as soon as everyone was gathered, Jean found himself hard pressed to say his speech was prepared much beyond his very rocky opening statement.

                “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I was so eager to leave Trost,” Jean began unsteadily.

                “ _Eager_ is putting it lightly,” Reiner mumbled.

                Jean had to force himself against commenting on how he and Bertl had seemed _eager_ that night as well. But with the joking, he slowly felt his trepidation melt away. His crew would support him, it was alright to tell them all that had happened.

                “There was some trouble that I encountered there,” Jean said. He shot a glance to Marco, who was pressed into the corner of the room, much like he had been when Jean first found him on his ship. “Once we arrived I was taken into custody and thrown into a court room surprisingly quickly. I think everyone was waiting for my arrival so they could hurry along my trial and execute me.”

                “Why would the hell’d they want to do that?” Connie interjected.

                “Because,” Jean continued. “I was accused of murder. And not just any murder. The murder of their Prince.”

                “Oh, Jean,” Armin said sadly. He pushed forward until he reached Jean’s side and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. Jean patted at it affectionately and distractedly before smiling at his worried looking crew.

                “I managed to get out of it with a little help from Marco.”

                Every eye then turned to the man in question and he blushed, lifting his hands in front of his chest. “I-I really didn’t _do_ much. I just- just made a few statements and tried to get him out of it.”

                “How did you even manage to get the courts to listen to you?” Reiner asked with wide eyes. “In my experience they don’t do that, well, ever.”

                “I- my opinion is very valued, I suppose,” Marco said. He shuffled his feet and breathed for a moment before continuing. “I’m the Prince’s brother you see. And because I didn’t recognize Jean or think he would… _kill_ Leonardo, the court was hesitant to punish him, especially after I said I would take charge of the investigation behind my brother’s death.”

                “W-what does the investigation have to do with Jean?” Bertl asked.

                “We suspect I was framed by someone,” Jean answered. “Which is why we’re going to be out at sea for quite a while, a month actually is our time limit. We’re going to be looking for them during this time, because it’s likely they’re connected with the Prince’s assassination.”

                “Do you even know who-“ Reiner began. But then his eyes widened and he fumbled for Bertl’s hand. “You don’t think it’s-“

                Reiner cut himself off once more, recoiling as if the name he was about to utter stung him.

                “I suspect,” Jean said quietly.

                “Where do we go, then?” Armin asked. He looked between, Reiner, Bertl and Jean with a raised eyebrow but didn’t say anything of their exchange.

                “That seems to be the catch,” Jean said with a humorless chuckle. “I don’t know.”

 

\---

 

                Jean didn’t get much sleep again. His crew now knew why they were on this journey and that had taken some of the weight off of his shoulders. But only Bertl and Reiner knew who they were looking for, and Jean was still hesitant to put a name to the person he thought might be responsible. It was up to him to find out where they were headed, yet he himself didn’t know. They were wandering aimlessly out at sea. Their little crew did it often, in search of treasure, a new island to explore, or gods knew what other adventure. But now, they had to find a small fish in this vast ocean and he had no clue where to begin as he stood in the shallows.

                Jean paced in front of maps he had accumulated throughout his years. They had never been as familiar as they had become since their journey began. He had looked over them again and again in a futile hope that maybe it would show him where the murderer was. As if the map would give answers to everything that was currently troubling Jean. But they stayed the same every time Jean looked at them.

                There was a light rapping on his door before it creaked open and Marco’s head poked in.

                “May I come in?” he asked quietly.

                “Fine,” Jean said tiredly. Marco hurried into the room, closing the noisy door behind himself.

                “Am I interrupting?” Marco asked. He hesitated on his next step forward, nearly losing his balance, as he observed Jean scrutinizing his maps.

                “Probably not, it’s unlikely I would have had an epiphany in the time it took you to stumble in here,” Jean sighed.

                Marco shuffled a bit, before gaining stride once again and joining Jean at his side.

                “Would you like some help?” he offered.

                “No,” Jean answered quickly. “No, it’s my burden. Besides, I’m not sure you’d be much help.”

                “Because I don’t belong?” Marco asked quietly.

                Jean wasn’t sure how to answer. It was true, Marco probably wouldn’t be much help on his ship because of his inexperience. But the rest of his crew was no help either. None of them _knew_ the person they were tracking. Even Reiner and Bertl only knew him as their executor, someone who would have enjoyed their deaths. They hadn’t known him before that, before his family was killed. Jean had. But it wasn’t as if that knowledge was much use to him anymore. Jean didn’t know him anymore, didn’t know where he would have gone at a time like this. Jean didn’t even know if he would actually go to these lengths for revenge anymore.

                Jean was about to open his mouth and finally answer Marco’s bitter question when Connie came crashing in next.

                “We have a bit of a problem,” Connie began in a rush. He glanced over his shoulder as Reiner shouted something at him, but apparently wasn’t serious enough to warrant more than a roll of Connie’s eyes before he turned back to Jean. “We’re coming up on a pass. But it’s dark inside and Reiner thinks it may be because it gets narrow deeper in. Should we go around?”

                “Show me,” Jean said, rushing outside with Connie.

                “It’s not the type of thing that you need to be _shown_ , really,” Connie grumbled.

                And for once, Connie was right. A massive wall of dirt and rock loomed over their suddenly small ship. The sudden spike of anxiousness Jean felt when gazing at its dark and foreboding massiveness wasn’t helped when he saw the jagged line that seemed to be rending the earth apart. Inside of the ravine it was black as pitch. Nothing but shadows seemed to move inside of it, and Jean wasn’t at all put at ease by what his eyes caught.

                Yet, when he looked to his right and then to his left the cliff seemed to carry on for miles either way. If they went around, it would add unneeded days to their journey. Days they did not have if the murderer was on the move.

                “Keep going forward!” Jean shouted to Reiner.

                Marco, having inched back to Jean’s side gaped at him. “Are you sure that’s a wise decision, Jean?”

                “No,” he muttered.

                “You’re going to get us killed!” Reiner shouted back. But despite his words, he was grinning and the direction of the ship didn’t waver for an instant.

                “You have such little faith, Reiner!” Jean said. Reiner’s manic grin seemed to be infectious as Jean caught it mirrored on his own face.

                “We’re really all going to die aren’t we?” Armin asked quietly.

                “Maybe,” Jean answered. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

\---

 

                Entering the ravine wasn’t tricky in the least. It was wide open, waiting for them to enter quietly, as if it knew they had no choice but to go through or risk days, weeks, months, going around it. 

                When they entered its gaping maw all was eerily silent for a moment. Even the crashing of waves against the ship was oddly muffled.

                But then the singing began.

                It was just as uncanny as the dark that swallowed them up. And it was loud. It bounced off the rocky, jagged walls around them. Blocking out the sound would have been near impossible. But none of them really wanted to block it out. In all its ghastliness it was beautiful.

                The voices who sang it were preternatural. The music lilted perfectly and their voices rose and waned at the exact moments.

                “Wow,” Connie breathed. “Who’s singing _that_.”

                “Sirens,” Marco whispered in awe. He had only ever heard stories of sailors who met their demise because of the beauteous voices of the siren when he was a child. It took him a moment to fully remember the details and a moment longer to realize that they were all in danger. “Cover your ears!”

                Jean, who was beside him, _pouted._ “Why? It’s never a bad time for music.”

                Connie was leaning over the railing dangerously, his hand straining towards the water. Marco rushed forward and pulled him back by his shirt, earning himself a frustrated groan on Connie’s part.

                “Let me go,” Connie muttered. “I was just looking.”

                Marco pulled him further on deck, until he was standing safely in the middle, right next to the main mast. However, once Marco let him go he made a beeline towards the edge once again.

                “Marco,” Connie said, bringing out the last syllable of his name out in a whine. “I just wanna see. Just once.”

                “No,” Marco said, dragging him along as he searched the deck for some rope.

                Once he found some, safely tucked in a corner, he dragged Connie back to the mast and tied him up, the only way to ensure that he wouldn’t wander off.

                But that was only one problem down. While Connie was straining at his ropes, the others were also wanting to go towards the railing. Reiner seemed hesitant, but it was still apparent he was becoming fixated as well.

                Jean, Armin and Bertl were reaching towards the water, giggling and muttering to something under the water. Bertl turned suddenly and waved Reiner over.

                “Come on, Reiner,” he said, cutting himself off with a giggle. “There are some fair ladies who want to meet you. They want to give you some ‘special treatment’ if you’re as handsome as I claim you are.”

                Reiner raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want to speak to a woman when I have you?”

                Marco took this opportunity to rush towards Bertl and push him away from the railing.

                “He’s right, you know,” Marco said kindly, already grasping at Armin and Jean’s shirts. “You have each other, why would you want to be seduced by a _siren’s_ calling?”

                Some notes broke off and were replaced by loud hisses that seemed to fit in with the music near perfectly. The new sounds bounced off the walls and echoed along with the notes and it took all of Marco’s willpower not to shy away from the edge without Jean and Armin.

                He hauled them back as best he could but with the both of them pulling against him, he found it hard to take them away properly. And there was no one to turn to for help.

                Reiner may not have been as affected by the sirens as the others, but it was enough to put him in a daze, as if he had been hit on the head. Bertl seemed to have mostly broken out of the need to jump ship but he was still swaying in the middle of the deck, lunging between Reiner and the siren’s calls.

                Marco knew he needed to get more rope and cursed his lack of foresight. The two men resisting him as hard as they could weren’t helping in the least. Jean and Armin both were lean looking, possessing none of the obvious muscles Reiner and even Marco had, but they were _strong_. Hardened from years at sea, fighting and running from people wanting to condemn them for crimes they probably hadn’t even committed.

                Marco grunted in one last valiant effort to bring the men back on deck. They toppled over in a heap and Marco struggled underneath them, pushing against their weight as they went completely limp.

                He wondered what happened, why they were acting this way. Once he stopped struggling to check on them though he realized what had stopped. The sirens were no longer singing. Everything was silent except for the crashing of waves that had begun sounding like booming thunder in the confined, dark space.

                Suddenly, the ship rocked to one side violently, sending Marco, Jean, and Armin tumbling to one side. Reiner and Bertl also fell, keeping themselves to one side of the ship much better than the other three did.

                And then the singing began again. It was much less like singing now than it was chanting. The words didn’t make sense, but they were clearly ominous; they were low and becoming louder with every crash of water against the rocky, jagged walls of the ravine.

                There was cackling and Jean and Armin jumped up, rushing towards the railing.

                “It was nice knowing you all!” Jean said, giggling like a madman. “There are some pretty women awaiting my company down under the ship.”

                “ _Jean!_ ” Marco shouted. He rushed forward, as Jean clumsily clambered onto the precarious ledge of the ship. Armin watched him for a moment before following his lead, laughing as well.

                Marco latched onto both of their shirts again and brought them crashing back to the deck. The both of them writhed under him, attempting to get away. The siren’s song began to morph once again, its dark undertones remaining but the nonsensical chant began to make words.

                “Let me _go_!” Armin flailed even more frantically under Marco’s grip.

_What will we do with the drunken whaler?_

                Marco shouted as he dragged the both of them towards the mast Connie was tied against, a renewed strength fueling him. Jean and Armin kicked against him. They clawed at the ground in an attempt to get away and they shouted.

                “I just wanna meet them!” Jean said. “Just once, _please!”_

_What will we do with the drunken whaler?_

“Come on, Marco, let us go,” Armin said. He sniffed and rubbed at his watery eyes. “We won’t jump off of the ship, honest.”

_What will we do with the drunken whaler, early in the morning?_

“Reiner!” Marco tried frantically. There was no response, except for the boat scraping against a jutting rock and the continuous music. He checked over his shoulders and saw Reiner curled in a ball with his hands clapped over his ears. Bertl was in no better shape. He was on his hands and knees sobbing against the rough wood of the deck.

                He had to save them alone.

                Marco screamed in frustration again and threw Jean and Armin against the mast roughly. Connie was muttering things under his breath, eyes trained towards the water, cocking his head on occasion to hear better.

                Marco rushed over to some more rope on the deck, hoping that it would be enough to secure them properly.

                The boat was jostled again and Marco stumbled on his way back, seeing Jean and Armin bowl over once more on their frantic run back to the railings. Once they stood, however, time seemed to stop. They froze and turned towards Marco again, a frighteningly blank look to their eyes.

_Stuff him in a sack and throw him over._

Marco’s eyes widened. No, they wouldn’t.

_Stuff him in a sack and throw him over._

Jean and Armin stepped forward in perfect synchronization, looking at Marco with their emotionless eyes and their grins that revealed their teeth and gums.

                The boat rocked again and neither of them lost their balance, staying perfectly upright while Marco stumbled to the side, leaving him vulnerable as he desperately tried not to fall or drop the rope.

_Stuff him in a sack and throw him over, early in the morning._

                They ran towards him then, fists raised and knocked him over. Marco yelped as he fell, grappling with the both of them and pushing them back enough to wriggle out of their grips.

                Marco scrambled towards the mast again, where Connie growled at him and kicked out. Reiner and Bertl were still incapacitated and Marco became suddenly, guiltily grateful that they were so conflicted they wouldn’t try to harm him as well. 

                Jean and Armin were still following him, laughing and lurching forwards unsteadily.

                “Come on!” Marco shouted as the boat buffeted again and threw him against the mast. Jean and Armin flung themselves against him.

                The lyrics of the sirens becoming more and more nightmarish, commanding them to do much more awful things than throw him overboard.

                He struggled with the other men, pushing and pulling until _their_ backs were the ones pushed against the wood of the mast. They kicked at him, flailed, scratched and snapped their teeth whenever he came too close while he secured them next to Connie who was acting out just as much.

                The boat creaked and something snapped as they collided with another rocky structure.

                Marco wished he could do something about Reiner and Bertl, comfort them somehow or get them to a safer place below deck, but he had already spent too much time fighting with Jean and Armin. The ravine was getting thinner and there was only one sliver of light, one hope Marco had for getting them out of the whole situation.

                He rushed up to the ship’s wheel. And he stared. He had never driven before, only watched Reiner man the ship when he was bored. It had seemed straightforward enough but he was worried there might have been some part of it he didn’t understand; like when he was young and only thought being King only making laws and ordering people around. What if there was more to it than he thought there was?

                However, he had no choice but to drive. He would just have to see how it went once he started then wouldn’t he?

                His hands wrapped around the worn wood gently at first, his grip becoming more sure when the rough wood slowly became less intimidating to his soft, princely hands.

                Bertl wailed as the sirens became louder. Jean, Armin and Connie screamed Marco’s name, trying get him to come to closer to them, to untie them from the mast.

                Marco gritted his teeth and turned the wheel, steering them away from another craggy rock. The boat was jostled harder this time. A frantic rocking took over, and steering became significantly harder.

                Because of the ship’s bulk there was always a small lag between Marco jerking the wheel one way and the ship following his command. And the rocking confused him at times. Where was the ship turning? When he turned the wheel was it sharp enough? Did he really turn the wrong way or was it the sirens throwing him off course?

                As the sliver of light leading to the outside became closer, larger, Marco felt himself becoming more determined, more focused on what he was doing. The siren’s eerie, now whispered song was pushed to the back of his mind and the crew’s screaming, he blocked out as best he could.

                There was nothing but Marco, the ship and the unpredictable waters before him.

                The boat seemed to throw itself towards the walls. The wood moaned its sorrowful cries just as much as the crew it carried.

                Marco turned the ship’s wheel desperately as the singing became louder and the ship was thrown harder. He was so close. The rays of the sun broke through the small opening in elegant streaks that highlighted the spray of water.

                “ _Marco!”_ Jean cried. “You don’t belong here, what right do you have tying us up like this? Let us go! _Let us go!”_

                Marco winced when his words were reinforced with Armin and Connie repeating his cries and slapping against the mast. He ignored them and hoped they weren’t using their heads to make such loud _thumps_.

                The boat’s front was pushed sharply to the right, pointing them away from their escape.

                Marco strained against the wheel once again. There was more resistance, so much he had to throw his whole weight into righting the ship’s path.

                “Come on!” he leaned over the wheel, straining with the boat to go forwards. _“Come on!”_

Everything went silent.

                Now not even the water or the creak of the damaged ship was sounding through the ravine. Everyone on the boat had silenced their cries. Marco peeked over to the deck and saw them all limp as dolls.

                The singing picked up again as melancholic humming but it was distant and quiet and none of the crew seemed to be affected by it, remaining unconscious.

                Marco stayed alert, straining his ears for any sounds beyond the ghastly humming. But there was nothing.

                They finally, _finally_ slipped through the end of the ravine. He collapsed to his knees and leaned his forehead against the wheel. There was still humming but he wasn’t sure if that was his own haunted mind or if the sirens were still close enough for their melody to follow them into the open.

 

\---

 

                Jean woke slowly, his eyelids too heavy to open immediately. There was something rough rubbing against his inner elbows and across his stomach, as well as something wooden and curved at his back.

                He was too weak to tug at the ropes. A spike of anxiety shot through him. He didn’t remember anything beyond reaching the inside of the ravine.

                There was the sound of metal scraping. The sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

                Jean struggled with himself a moment before opening his eyes. He saw leather boots and his eyes traveled up, gathering thin and torn pants as well as a damaged shirt, most of the buttons gone and a sleeve torn from the seems, revealing a man’s freckled skin.

                There was a sword pointed shakily at Jean’s side. No. Marco couldn’t have been the one to bind him like this. Where was everyone else?

                “M-Marco?” Jean began. Sure enough, when he raised his eyes to the man’s face it was Marco. But instead of a hardened glare or a sneer curling his lips, his eyes were wide and he was chewing on his bottom lip. The sword shook and he was tense, head turned slightly to the side, but his eyes trained completely on Jean, as if he were ready to run.

                “Jean?” he said slowly. “Is it really you?”

                “Of course,” he said. He furrowed his eyebrows and tried to move his hand towards Marco. But there was the rope in his way. “What- what happened exactly? Why am I tied up?”

                Marco exhaled and closed his eyes. “So you don’t remember.”

                “No,” he strained against the ropes. “Will you let me go?”

                “No,” Marco said quickly. “No, not until I’m sure you’re yourself again.”

                There was a groan to their right. Both of them snapped their gazes over to the sound. Reiner was laying on the floor and rubbing at his eyes, moving his legs a little. Bertl was a little ways off to the side, still unmoving. Jean just barely saw them over Armin’s slumped figure. He turned his head and saw Connie was also bound, still limp.

                “Why aren’t Reiner and Bertl tied?” Jean asked. He raised an eyebrow and turned towards Marco again.

                “They didn’t attempt to throw me overboard.”

                Jean gasped. Of all the possible explanations to what had happened, Jean had never anticipated that answer. And what was even more surprising was the next thought that popped into Jean’s head. _He would never harm Marco, he would protect him with his life._

“Reiner,” Marco said. Jean barely heard him, his voice was so soft and quiet.

                Marco helped him sit up, rubbing his back and letting him slump onto his shoulder. Reiner muttered something, too low for Jean to catch.

                Their conversation was hushed and quick, and at the end Reiner reached towards Bertl, muttering one last thing before Marco helped over to his lover. Reiner cradled Bertl’s head in his lap and stroked his hair gently, murmuring gentle words under his breath.

                Marco looked away, fidgeting with his fingers, before coming over to Jean.

                “What did you mean before?” Jean said once Marco stood before him again.

                “There were- there were sirens,” Marco said quietly. He looked down at his now still hands. “They affected everyone except for me and they- they told you to throw me overboard, and worse, because I wouldn’t let you jump ship and go to them.”

                “The whole crew tried to harm you?” Jean asked. He was staring wide-eyed at Marco, unable to process that anyone would want to harm him.

                “No,” Marco answered. “Just you, Armin, and Connie. Reiner and Bertl were struggling but they never harmed me.”

                “Tell me everything that happened,” Jean said.

                Marco nodded and settled himself in front of Jean.

 

\---

 

                Jean sighed when Marco had finished speaking. By then, everyone had been fully awakened and listened to as much of his story as they could. Armin and Connie were the ones who got the least amount of information, as they were the last to wake. But they quickly caught on to the situation and remained quiet while Marco spoke.

                “We didn’t mean to do something like that,” Armin said quietly. He turned his face away. “I’m so sorry.”

                Connie was quick to repeat his apologies, his usually open face twisted into a deep scowl.

                “Don’t- don’t fret over it,” Marco said, fists curled in his lap and eyes trained to the ground. “You weren’t able to control yourselves.”

                “It’s my fault,” Jean said suddenly. He kept quiet the entire time Marco spoke, not even a breath of a word had passed his lips. “I should have made us go around. You wouldn’t have been in danger if we did.”

                “Jean,” Marco whispered. His hand hovered over Jean’s for a moment before recoiling. “It’s nobody’s fault. There was hardly a way to know the sirens were there.”

                “It’s fairly obvious in hindsight,” Jean said. He lowered his head and sighed.

                “Everything is obvious in hindsight, Jean, there’s no use dwelling in it. We got through it.”

                Jean finally lifted his head and smiled at Marco softly. He really did admire him for single-handedly getting them back to safety.

                “Do you still think I can’t survive at sea?” Marco asked, a crooked smile lighting his features for a glorious moment.

                “Maybe,” Jean said, an answering smirk twisting at his lips.

                Connie cleared his throat. “I love how touching it is to see the two of you getting along so well, really. But, Marco, is it too much to ask to be cut out of these ropes?”

 

\---

 

                Everyone retreated to their own spaces once they were freed. Connie went to the kitchen, Reiner and Bertl settled at the wheel and Armin decided to take a nap in their sleeping quarters. Jean retired to his captain’s cabin. He wasn’t sure where Marco went, but he was sure he was off to be alone as well, to brood over the events of the day as the rest of them were.

                Everyone was deeply troubled over the fact that they could have been controlled with no recollection of it ever happening. Reiner was the only one, besides Marco, who could vaguely remember some details. He could remember trying to get to Bertl. He could remember Bertl trying to come to _him_. And he could remember the singing, piercing his ears like small, endless daggers, a small voice coaxing him to do the siren’s bidding.

                He wondered what made Reiner, Bertl, and Marco so different to be less affected by the sirens than the rest of them. There weren’t that many qualities between them that could have been attributed to this. They were all brave, but so were the rest of Jean’s crew. It couldn’t have been that. Could it have possibly been that they had stronger wills than the rest of them? But Jean saw a strong will in Armin and Connie all the time, so that couldn’t have been it either.

                There was a timid knock on his door, interrupting his thoughts.

                “Come in,” Jean shouted, only loud enough to be heard through the door. 

                His door creaked open and Marco popped his head in, the rest of his body hidden. He smiled softly at Jean before coming into the cabin quickly and quietly, firmly shutting the door behind him.

                “You’re not afraid of me?” Jean asked. There was no way any normal person would lock themselves into an enclosed room with someone who had nearly just killed them. To Jean it seemed this would be even more likely of a prince, someone likely taught what situations they must avoid at all costs, lest their lives be taken by manipulative politicians.

                “It seems as though you’re back to normal,” Marco shrugged. “I don’t think it’s likely you’re going to kill me now.”

                “I would never harm you,” Jean found himself saying. “Never.”

                Marco smiled warmly and wandered further inside. He had only visited Jean once before, right before they entered the siren’s domain, but he seemed comfortable enough. At least, more comfortable than he did upon his arrival.

                Marco paused. “Um, sorry. I don’t have a reason for coming in here. I simply wanted your company.”

                “That’s alright,” Jean said, waving his hand around lazily. “I don’t mind you being here. I wasn’t going to do much except maybe look at our course now. Our direction hasn’t been made any clearer, and quite frankly, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

                “I know you denied it before, but I’m still offering my help,” Marco said. “Maybe two minds would have better luck in this than one.”

                Jean smiled at him. “I’m not sure I can trust you with this. You _did_ scratch the hull of my ship to high heaven.” When Marco chuckled, Jean grew more serious and hesitated, tapping his finger against his desk. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right putting the captain’s burden onto someone else. Especially a guest on our ship.”

                “Oh so I’ve graduated from stowaway to guest?” Marco asked, with a smile and a light chuckle.

                Jean laughed alongside him as well. “You’ve certainly earned it and more with what you’ve done today.” Jean’s smile quickly slipped off his face and he played with the corner of his desk as he spoke again. “I am truly sorry for putting you through that.”

                “Jean,” Marco said. He strode forward and caught Jean’s fidgeting hand with his. “Please don’t worry. I’d do it again if I had to. I wasn’t about to let any of you drown.”

                Marco cupped Jean’s hand in his and patted him lightly on the back of his hand, smiling warmly throughout.

                “You shouldn’t be the one reassuring me. It should be the other way around,” Jean said. His scowl lessened, and he squeezed Marco’s warm hand once before letting go. They stood in a comfortable silence for a moment, moving to Jean’s bed and sitting on it together.

                “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jean said. “But why weren’t you affected by the sirens?”

                “I was thinking about that as well. And I think it’s because- because, well, I don’t seem to fancy women, as hard as I try to sometimes. They don’t hold my interest like- like men do,” Marco said. His face turned red and he began playing with a string poking from one of his shirt’s many different seams.

                “That seems to make sense.” Jean stilled Marco’s hand with his own. “You need new clothes don’t you? I can ask Reiner for some spares. He’s a bit broader than you but the best fit on the ship, I think.”

                “No, no, please, don’t bother him for me,” Marco said quickly.

                “Well, you do need new clothes,” Jean pointed out. “How about we go down to the treasury, there are some clothes there if I remember correctly. They’re all made of expensive stuff, so I’m sure your highness will be quite pleased with them.”

                Marco laughed when Jean gave him a wry smile. “I think that will do just fine.”

                They traveled down to the treasure room quietly, not feeling the need to speak of much any longer. But when they arrived, Jean broke the silence.

                “I don’t quite remember what the clothing looks like, other than that it was silk, so I’m sure we’re about to have a grand time digging through this pile for some clothes.”

                Marco chuckled quietly and tried not to feel overwhelmed by the room. He had stayed there for a good day, but he hadn’t observed any clothes, and with the large piles of gold and jewels he thought it might be a long while before they came across anything resembling clothing.

                “Well,” Jean said with a sigh. “Let’s get started then.”

                Their search wasn’t filled with much words between them, except for the times Jean knocked something over and cursed loudly. His language certainly befitted his profession, Marco thought to himself.

                Marco was the first one to find something, his fingers brushing against soft silk, much different from the cold metals he had been feeling before.

                “Is this one of them?” Marco asked as he carefully tugged the fabric loose. It slid free quickly, sending a few small trinkets tinkling to the floor after it. Marco held it out in front of him as it unfurled.

                “Oh, that’s only a coat,” Jean said and turned back to his pile. “I suppose we can keep looking.”

                “This looks quite stifling, doesn’t it?” Marco asked. He laughed and set the floral jacket down again. There was so much lace and small details, Marco wasn’t quite sure where he should lay his eyes and the material was very stiff and thick. “You’d be able to sell that for a lot in England wouldn’t you? Are you going to do that?”

                “I suppose, but England is a boring place to be, don’t you think? There’s no one there, they’ve all left to go to the New World. I’d much rather go to islands, where the sea is always in my sight, and the sun is always out.”

                “Ah, so you just haven’t gotten around to getting to England then?” Marco asked.

                “That and if I ever come across any royalty, I can brag about having that jacket.”

                Marco snorted and continued to look around.

                There was another long bout of comfortable silence before Marco made an excited sound at having found another piece of clothing.

                “That’s woman’s clothing,” Jean said, once it was unfurled. “And not even the good kind. What the hell is that doing here?”

                “Maybe Armin or Connie snuck a lady friend aboard?” Marco suggested, laughing when Jean only rolled his eyes.

                “Let’s just continue looking,” Jean said.

                “No- no, it’s fine,” Marco said and studied the garment once more. “I actually quite like it.”

                Jean laughed. “Would you actually wear it?”

                Marco hummed in thought and swung the clothing over his shoulder. “Yes. Can you leave for a moment, so I can get dressed?”

                “You’re so proper. Aren’t you used to other people seeing you naked so they can dress you?”

                “No, I actually hated that, I do it alone. Why aren’t _you_ bothered by it?”

                “Because I live closely with four other men. It’s not uncommon to see a bare ass around here.”

                Marco laughed and made a shooing motion with his hand. Jean sighed and left, before he was scolded.

                Before long, Marco wandered out of the treasure room, tugging at the fabric.

                “I’m glad whoever had this before was a large woman. It’s actually a bit loose.”

                Jean studied him for a moment, the long blue dress hanging so low, it concealed his feet completely. Along with that was a white headdress Marco had pulled over his head. It did look like the dress was a bit too loose on him, as it didn’t reveal much of Marco’s body underneath.

                “It might be because you’re as thin as a woman,” Jean said offhandedly.

                “I’m broader than you!” Marco said, pretending to pout his lip.

                Jean motioned for Marco to come forward. Once he complied, Jean pushed the headdress down. “It doesn’t suit you to have your face partially covered, you’re too handsome, you should keep this down.”

                Marco blushed when Jean’s fingers gently brushed across him as he pushed the headdress down.

                “Thank you, for helping me find some clothing,” Marco said.

                “You’re welcome,” Jean said and took a step back. “I’m not quite tired yet though, would you like to talk some more? That is, if you’re not tired either.”

                “No, I think I’d like to speak with you for a while longer.” 

                For the rest of the evening, they lazed around Jean’s cabin. Jean mostly spoke of his smaller adventures, his fights with other pirates for their gold, their maps. He explained the meaning of his strange Jolly Roger, as it wasn’t a skull and crossbones that was typically seen on a pirate’s ship, but a set of wings, one blue, the other white. He explained that they called them the wings of freedom and that they were there because Jean’s ship gave them the freedom that wings would. And Marco spoke of his palace life. He spoke of how it was much more boring than one would think, how stuffy and lonely it could feel inside. And he spoke of his brother, who seemed just about as kindhearted as Marco, if not a bit more wild.

                When Marco’s yawns began interrupting his every other sentence, Jean laughed and swatted at him.

                “Go to sleep. You’re clearly tired.”

                “Fine,” Marco said. He seemed disappointed at the suggestion but he quickly got up from where he had been laying casually in Jean’s bed. He turned back just before he left and gave Jean the largest, most genuine smile he had worn the entire trip. “Goodnight, Jean.”

                “Goodnight.”

 

\---

 

                Jean couldn’t breathe, nor could he see. There was no difference in his sight when he opened his eyes or closed them. All was all dark. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by something heavy. When he opened his mouth to yell with his last remaining breath, nothing came out but bubbles of air, floating in front of his face before ascending so high he could no longer see them in the darkness they had broke through.

                Then he felt a hand grasp him. It was cold and unfamiliar, with a grip like iron. And when he felt himself being pulled in a seemingly random direction he panicked. He couldn’t tell up from down, left from right. What if he was being pulled deeper into the abyss, somewhere dangerous?

                But suddenly he broke free and he could breathe again, the weight now gone from his limbs with a small crash of water around him. He coughed and heaved as his body attempted to get the water from his lungs. He struggled for what seemed like hours, before he could bring himself to lift his head without throwing up the sea water again.

                He finally opened his eyes and saw a short, petite woman, lounging against a small couch. Her hair was blonde and tied up in a bun with hissing snakes that peered around her head, and spat at Jean. Her attire consisted of a torn dress, revealing scars and scratches against her pale skin.

                “Jean Kirschtein,” she said with false cheer. “Why, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

                “Eris,” Jean said. He scrambled to his feet and swayed in place, but somehow managed to stay upright.

                “Now, now,” Eris said with a wagging finger. “You’re still weak from breathing in all that water.” She leaned forward, narrowed her eyes and pointed right at Jean. “Sit.”

                Jean was pushed back into a wooden chair that seemed to have been conjured out of the air.

                “What do you want?” Jean asked slowly.

                “There are some things we need to discuss, Jean,” Eris said. She stood, leaving the couch she had been laying against in a fog before it finally dissipated into the air. Eris cleared her throat. “Do you remember that time you came into my part of the sea?”

                Jean remembered. He remembered the storm that pushed him and his small crew into waters they had never been to before. He remembered that the waters became calm once they reached Eris’ domain, but it was no less dark and the air was still charged with the threat of oncoming lightening. He remembered their increasing unease in the calm place. It was foreboding, as if they were merely in the eye of the storm for a few minutes before they would be plunged back into dangerous waters. He remembered when the first bump against their ship sent them sprawling on the deck. He remembered when the first of many of Eris’ pets reared out of the water with a thunderous roar.

                He remembered defeating the last monster, the rest of his crew unconscious. He remembered being the only one to stagger upright and come face to face with a _furious_ Eris.

                “Yes,” Jean said.

                “You know,” she began, placing her hands on her hips like she was about to scold a child. “You haven’t repayed that favor. It should be quite important to you, considering I spared your life because of it. And- well, it’s revenge. What young pirate doesn’t want that?”

                “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant about this,” Jean said.

                Eris flicked her hand and sat back down on the couch that began sluggishly forming again. “It’s not your concern as to why I want this done.”

                “Well then why haven’t you helped me _find_ him,” Jean said. He growled in frustration and turned his head away. “I can’t exactly do anything if I’ve no idea where he actually _is_.”

                “That’s not it,” Eris said, sitting back against the couch. “You could find him if you truly wanted to. You’re just stalling. You feel guilty for betraying him and, really, you can’t quite bring yourself to resent him for leaving you the way he did. Well, Mr. Kirschtein, I’d like to give you a bit of information that might make revenge easy for you.”

                Jean closed his eyes and shook his head. “Did he really?”

                “So you know,” Eris said. She sighed. “Yes, he did.”

                “God,” Jean said, squeezing his hands into tight fists, his eyes still shut tight. “I can’t believe Eren would kill someone just to _frame me_.”

                Eris cleared her throat, bringing Jean’s attention back to her. “Follow the North Star. You’ll find him along the way.”

 

\---

 

                Jean strode out of his cabin, and moved towards Reiner, who was in his usual place, at the wheel.

                “Reiner, move the ship north,” he said once he stood by Reiner’s side.

                Reiner raised an eyebrow. “What brought about this change?”

                “It’s just a hunch, a very strong one. I think we’ll find the Prince’s killer if we follow the North Star.”

                Reiner shook his head. “I have no idea where you get these odd ideas.” He brought his compass out of his pocket and gave the wheel a mighty spin until the ship was pointing directly north. “But they’ve never led us astray before.”

 

\---

 

                Jean told no one of who had killed Marco’s brother, not even Marco himself. He continued to push it back, telling himself he’d reveal it once he knew without a singular doubt that Eren had framed him by killing someone with his own hands. Although, a part of him knew he would never accept this completely until Eren himself told him it was true.

                In the meantime, the crew grew accustomed to Marco’s presence on the ship. There were no upturned noses when Marco’s wardrobe became almost exclusively the few women’s outfits on board. Although, Jean wasn’t surprised, his crew probably wouldn’t have cared if Marco walked around naked as the day he was born. Connie and Reiner even took to jokingly calling him Queen after he scolded Jean for leaving his dirty clothes on the deck. No one really scolded Jean except for Armin and not because they held a fearful respect for his status as captain, but because Jean would have probably scoffed and ignored them completely anyways. He hardly listened to anyone except Armin, and even with him Jean would roll his eyes or huff before he’d comply, that is unless Armin was in an absolutely horrendous mood, then everyone would be obedient. But when _Marco_ scolded Jean, he’d duck his head and fix whatever caused the lecture in the first place, looking as if he had greatly disappointed someone he looked up to.

                Which he did. He looked up to Marco over the three weeks they were out at sea. He looked up to the amount of responsibility he had grown accustomed to carrying over his life. Jean didn’t quite realize how much work went into being royalty. He always assumed they were lazy, being waited on and using up the city’s tax money on things they didn’t need. But Marco explained how they had to manage the money, how he had to learn everything a King did, even though there was no guarantee he would ever ascend to the throne, as well as learn everything expected of him as a Prince if he wasn’t to become King. And Jean learned he was hardly ever let out of the palace, for fear he would be assassinated. But it seemed like a monarch might not be completely safe, even in the walls they lived in.

                Marco was a fine Prince, a fine _person_. He was kind to his very core. He smiled and laughed often, once he warmed up to the crew. And Jean thought his smile was blinding in its brilliance. It reminded him of the light from the sun sparking off of distant waters, or the shine of gold in the daylight. It was truly mesmerizing to him. So much so that when they spoke, which was often, Jean would make a conscious attempt at getting him to smile. He’d drag out his usual sarcasm or point out something pleasant Marco might like. His favorite thing to show Marco was the sunset. His smile was small then, but it was peaceful, all the weight of his responsibilities, all his grief seemed to slide overboard for those moments he was looking at the distant sun.

                “I heard the Earth was round, but I’d never thought I’d actually see its curve so clearly,” Marco said one day.

                “Yes, it explains the curve quite nicely doesn’t it? I always thought it was a trick of the eyes, because of the distance.”

                “I’m glad I could see it here with you,” Marco said. He ducked his head then, and laughed nervously. “Um, sorry, if that sounded... forward. I mean, I’m glad I can see it. And I’m glad you’re here too. You’ve become a good friend.”

                Jean smiled at him. “Me too.” Then he turned back to the sun, hoping Marco wouldn’t see his face resemble the pink of the sky. “I wasn’t sure you’d accept me as a friend so easily. I was really harsh on you.”

                “’ _You don’t belong here,’”_ Marco said with a frown and a gravelly voice. He barely got the last word out before he laughed some more.

                Jean frowned and flicked him in the arm. “I didn’t sound like that.”

                “But you did,” Marco choked out between bursts of laughter.

                Jean rolled his eyes, but smiled to himself once he faced the ocean again. He really was glad Marco would consider him a friend because he considered Marco his best.

                Once they announced their friendship so explicitly to each other, they seemed to open even further to one another. Marco would share memories of his brother with watery eyes and hitched breaths. He’d never done so before, speaking of his brother seemed forbidden and painful to him. But now, he’d let himself speak freely about him with Jean. Perhaps it was because he felt comfortable around Jean now. He never ridiculed Marco for his tears, nor did he ever encourage him to begin getting over his brother. He merely sat by his side and sometimes embraced him in an effort to comfort.

                Soon, Marco wasn’t the only one to speak so freely. Jean also began slowly opening up and speaking of Eren, though he never named him. It felt wrong speaking his name after so many years of being unable to even think it. And Eris was right, he felt guilty about betraying Eren, so much so that there was a part of him that believed he didn’t have the right to say his name, especially when he was recalling him as the Eren before he had ruined him. Did he really have a right to looking back at these memories fondly when he was the one who had set them on the path to their ruined friendship in the first place? He didn’t know, so he never said his name, as if that would make his guilt any less. And at one point, Jean even got around to the topic of Eris, one he was afraid Marco would ridicule him for, or think he was mad. But he never did, he listened and asked questions when it was appropriate, as he always did. Jean felt it was an immense relief.

                Jean and Marco didn’t only speak of heavy subjects. Nearly two weeks of such topics would be emotionally tiring. Instead, when the weight of these memories weighed too heavy on them they moved to other topics. Sometimes they were mundane, other times they were adventurous. Jean would tell Marco even more stories about his time at sea, tell him a little more of his crew and the timeline of their camaraderie. Marco, in turn, would speak fondly of his mother and father, both of whom he greatly respected and looked up to. They were the leaders he hoped to become someday, now that the crown was to be his when his father retired or passed away.

                Because they spoke so often of anything and everything, there was hardly a moment when they were apart. Jean began thinking that his crew might have even begun to suspect something of this. Armin began giving him long, observant looks whenever he was paying any kind of attention to Marco, and Reiner and Bertl would give him knowing smiles before turning to each other and speaking in low voices. Connie never said anything, but that may have been because he could be quite oblivious at times.

                Jean tried not to think much of their behavior.

 

\---

 

                Jean was looking for Marco. He had gone off to look at the maps and confer with Reiner about their best course of action, leaving Marco to his own devices. Well, not really. He usually walked along the deck with Armin or shouted a conversation with Connie, who hung from his perch of the day. Sometimes he and Bertl would read together as well, simply enjoying each others company and occasionally exchanging a few quiet words before getting back to their respective novels. He and Reiner would look out over the sea, pointing and speculating and skipping further ahead than their small ship to places they had yet to explore. Technically, Marco wasn’t left to his _own_ devices, but usually he and Jean spent so much time together leaving him felt like so.

                Jean didn’t have to look for Marco at all, however. Once he stepped out of his cabin with Reiner, he saw him, leaning against the railing. He was further from their usual spot, in a secluded corner, right next to where the wooden walls and railing met. He was leaning heavily over the water, hand dangling out in the air, his head tucked into the crook of his other arm.

                Jean frowned and hurried to where he was. He placed a tentative hand on his shoulder after a moment’s deliberation and brought himself as close to Marco as he dared.

                Marco stood completely straight and wiped at his eyes hastily.

                “I thought you and Reiner would be longer,” he murmured, scraping his hand over his cheeks one more time.

                “Is it Leonardo?” Jean questioned.

                Marco took a moment to gather himself, straightening his clothing and breathing deeply to calm himself.

                “Yes.”

                “What about him?”

                “I just-” Marco slumped down again and dragged a shaky hand through his hair. “I just miss him again. It’s harder grieving for him out here. Back home, I’d just sneak into his room and lay in his bed and pretend we were having one of our late conversations. It didn’t make things better, far from it but it was- it was less painful.”

                “Here,” Jean said, tugging gently at Marco’s shoulder. “Come here.”

                Marco straightened and turned with a quirked eyebrow. His eyes were watering again but it seemed he’d forgotten to shed his tears. At least for a moment.

                Jean embraced him fully. Before he had only allowed Marco to lean against his shoulder, as his arm wrapped awkwardly around his torso. But now Marco’s face was buried in his neck and he held him tightly, offering himself to help Marco stand as his frame began to shake again.

                “Oh, Jean, I miss him so much,” Marco said. His voice wavered and cracked, until he finally let himself fall against Jean. He caught his weight and held him up as his shaky hiccups turned to quiet sobs.

                Jean pet his hair down, and smoothed his other hand across Marco’s back. Normally, he’d shake his head and wonder when he had become like a mother to this boy. But this was different. His careful hands weren’t parental like they might have been with any of the other members of his crew if they were to be distressed. It was a different, intimate kind of comfort that he didn’t know how to name. Not when he buried his nose in Marco’s hair, or when Marco clenched Jean’s shirt in his hands and brought him closer, until their bodies were pressed together from thighs to shoulders. He didn’t know what to call it. But he liked this intimacy. He wished they could share it again when Marco wasn’t crying enough to dampen the collar of his shirt.

                “Marco,” Jean said, simply to say his name. It was nothing more than a sudden act of comfort. Spoken softly against Marco’s hair and written along his shoulder blades from the tip of Jean’s finger.

                Marco sniffed loudly and slowly began to pull away. When he finally stood on his own, only their hands still linked them together.

                “Thank you for this,” Marco said softly, his eyes cast down to his shoes. “I didn’t mean to burden you like that, but it’s appreciated all the same.”

                “You’re not a burden, you never could be to me,” Jean said. “It wasn’t a problem. If you’re upset I’d hold you again and again a million times over.”

                Marco grinned cheekily. “Do you promise?”

                Jean smirked and took his hands away long enough to slip one of his rings off and hand it to Marco. It was a band made of silver, and studded with the gemstone aquamarine.

                “Here,” he said, dropping the glinting jewelry into Marco’s palm. “Every time you’re unhappy just hold on to this until I can come to you and give you proper comfort.

                “I didn’t mean it seriously,” Marco said. Jean only rolled his eyes and closed Marco’s hand around the ring. Marco shook his head. Then his gaze softened. “Thank you, Jean.”

                Jean took a step forward again, as if he needed to hold Marco again. “I’m merely trying my best to keep a promise to a dear friend.”

                Marco _beamed._

                And he moved closer. And closer. And closer still until Jean could feel the light flutter of his breath over his own lips. Their gazes were locked and Jean couldn’t help but begin to lower his eyelids when Marco did, lashes fluttering delicately.

                Their proximity was enough to make Jean feel dizzy. Very dizzy. In fact, he was sure this feeling wasn’t normal at all.

                He stumbled back a bit, and Marco’s eyes widened. Hurt flashed across his eyes, before he stepped back.

                “Jean, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-” he began. He was backing away even further and Jean shook his head frantically, putting up a hand to stop him.

                “No- no it’s not that, I- I wanted to continued I just-” Jean fell to his knees and shook his head some more, this time in an attempt at keeping the dizziness at bay. “I don’t feel right.”

                “Jean?” Marco crouched down next to him. He cupped his face and shook him lightly, gently. “Jean, focus on me.”

                Jean tried to nod but only succeeded in drooping his eyelids down further.

                The last thing he heard was Marco frantically repeating his name over and over again.

 

\---

 

                There were footsteps that sounded tinny and hollow. This wasn’t right. Where was the sound of boots clunking across worn wood? Or the ambient lull of crashing waves? There was nothing of that here, only an irritating buzzing.

                “Welcome!” a voice boomed. It sounded like it came from everywhere, bounced off of the walls and created a blast that made Jean groan.

                Jean finally brought himself to open his eyes. When he did, it seemed he was sitting in the middle of the night sky. There was darkness, broken only by a twinkling star, or a swirling colored cloud. And finally, his eyes rested on Eris. She was leaning against an invisible wall casually, watching Jean with her arms crossed and a bored expression on her face.

                Jean frowned. “Why did you bring me here?”

                “Oh a bit upset are we?” she said. “Things were getting interesting for you just now, weren’t they?”

                Jean felt his face heat up. He grit his teeth and looked away.

                “I can see that it will be an interesting romance,” Eris said. She stood up straight and began striding towards Jean. “But other than that, things have been _very_ boring. You seem to be porting a lot, Jean. More than normal.”

                “Because the ship is damaged. I don’t want to strain her if she’s on the brink of breaking down.”

                “But you know that it will be fine. You and I both do. Are you, perhaps, stalling?”

                Jean scoffed. “Just get to the point. I don’t appreciate your dream kidnapping.”

                “My point is that I’m getting bored and angry. Hurry this up,” she said. She sighed and leaned against another invisible wall. “And, really, it’s the perfect time to go after him. He’s so close, did you know?”

                Jean stood and if the chair hadn’t been seemingly bolted in place, it would have fallen over.

                “No, I didn’t,” he said, rounding on Eris. “I didn’t know he was close, because you’ve told me nothing besides _follow the North Star.”_

                Eris snapped her eyes up. She narrowed them, the blue of her iris seeming colder than it had been before. “And if I told you exactly where he was? Would you do it? Would you kill him?”

                “Of-o-of course I would,” Jean said. He slumped back down in his chair and buried his face in his hands. “Yes.”

                “You’re _lying_ ,” Eris said. Smoke began billowing from her feet as her black and tattered dress flared out. “You still love him. You still wish he was your best friend. Well, Jean Kirschtein, have you forgotten that I told you about his betrayal? Have you forgotten the grief he’s caused to the man you’re falling for?”

                Jean squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t forgotten the way Marco’s tears felt against his shoulder. He hadn’t forgotten his quiet, ragged sobs and he hadn’t forgotten that Leonardo’s death was the cause of all his grief.

                “Don’t you want Marco to feel better?” Eris asked, slowly walking forward even as the room began to dissolve around them, stars blinking out of existence bit by bit. “I think he would feel better once you kill Eren.”

                “He’s not like that,” Jean whispered. “He wouldn’t take pleasure in someone’s death.”

                “How would you know?” Eris said. She stopped in front of Jean and clenched his jaw in one cold hand, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Once you realize that this is the best for Marco, go to Shiganshina. You’ll find Eren there.”

 

\---

 

                Jean was warm. There were gentle hands on his face, softer than his calloused mitts, and an even softer voice murmuring over him. There were other voices too, all familiar to him as he steadily reached consciousness again.

                “Jean,” Marco kept saying.

                “This has never happened before,” Bertl muttered.

                “He’ll be fine, he always is,” Connie said brightly.

                “He’s right,” Armin whispered.

                “I think I should carry him to his cabin,” Reiner said after a few more moments of Marco chanting his name.

                “I’ll do it,” Marco said suddenly. “I can do it.”

                “Marco-” Reiner began.

                “No, really, I can do it.”

                “Stop bickering, you’re already giving me a headache,” Jean said. At least, he tried to say. Instead it turned into a slurred slosh of sounds that no one could really interpret.

                “Jean,” Marco said, the relief pouring from his voice. “What did you say? Do you need something?”

                Jean shook his head slightly. “Just for us to continue where we left off.”

                “Right, it doesn’t look like he’s going to be speaking coherently anytime soon,” Reiner said with a huff.

                “’M _fine_ ,” Jean managed to say. There was a collective sigh around him.

                “Jean,” Marco said. “I’m going to carry you to your cabin is that alright?”

                Jean nodded again.

                Then he was being lifted in the air. He felt a moment of panic and searched for Marco’s neck so he could anchor himself there. He buried his face in Marco’s chest and tried not to be lulled back into unconsciousness by his steady pace.

                “I have you,” Marco whispered. “I have you.”

                “My heroic prince,” Jean muttered. Marco chuckled at that.

                They were in Jean’s cabin far quicker than he had hoped. He had liked being held in Marco’s arms. He had liked being so close to him.

                He was transported to his bed gently. He immediately curled up on his side and reached for Marco, finally struggling to open his eyelids. He was greeted with the sight of Marco’s hand clasping his and then of his smiling face, gazing at him affectionately.

                There was a knock on the door before Reiner came bustling in, carrying some crackers and water. The rest of his crew peeked in from the doorway, all of them wearing faces of concern.

                “I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jean said, waving his free hand at them.

                Marco helped him into a sitting position so he could drink the water that was handed to him.

                “Thank you,” he said as he took the glass and drained it quickly.

                Reiner practically pounced on him once he was done. “What the hell happened?”

                “Nothing to worry about, Reiner,” Jean said slowly. His tongue still felt a bit heavy in his mouth.

                “Nothing?” Reiner scoffed. “Fainting for no reason isn’t just nothing.”

                Jean sighed. “It was Eris.”

                Reiner’s eyes widened. “She’s been speaking with you again? Why?”

                Bertl moved closer and took Reiner’s hand, twining their fingers together.

                “She knows-” Jean cut himself off and looked towards Marco, squeezing his hand. “She knows where your brother’s murderer is. And she wants me to kill him.”

                Marco’s eyes widened and he pulled his hand away from Jean’s to cover his mouth. “Why would she want that?”

                Jean shrugged. “She’s the goddess of chaos, it seems like she’s only doing what she’s supposed to. And she has been wanting me to kill him for a long while and you being here seems to have made the deal better for her.”

                Marco sat back. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “If you know _where_ he is, do you know _who_ he is? You must know his gender, you called the killer ‘him.’”

                “Y-yes, I know him. We used to be friends a long, long time ago. He hates me now. We haven’t spoken in years.”

                “Where is he?” Marco asked quietly.

                Jean hesitated, and remembered Eris’ words. Would Marco really be satisfied with his death?  
                “Shiganshina,” Jean finally said.

                “And- and what is his name?” Marco wasn’t looking at anything. He was staring at the floorboards, with a blank expression.

                Jean looked towards Reiner and Bertl who urged him on silently. He deserved to know.

                “Eren Jaeger.”

                Marco’s face scrunched up, like it did before he would cry. “Oh god.”

                “Marco,” Jean moved closer to him. He reached out but Marco swiftly moved to his feet and shoved past everyone without a word until he reached the doorway. There, he paused.

                “We should go to Shiganshina.” Then he disappeared.

                Jean stood and made to follow him, but Bertl’s hand rested gently against his bicep in an attempt to stop him. “Leave him be for a while. He needs time.”

                Jean took another step forward before he cursed and nodded tightly. “You’re right. We’ll leave him be.”

 

\---

 

                It had been nearly two days and Marco didn’t seem very keen on speaking to anyone. He showed up for dinner, but he sat on a stool in a corner and shoveled down his food as quickly as he could before he disappeared to the treasury, the only place that wasn’t visited often.

                Jean watched him painfully from afar. He was unresponsive to everything around him and sought solitude most of the time. He usually slept in the spare hammock they had, in the living quarters. But since he had learned about Eren, no one had seen him and Jean suspected he slept in the treasury if he slept much at all. It didn’t seem likely he did, with the deep bags under his eyes.

                Jean did his best to leave him alone, heeding Bertl’s words. But when he didn’t reveal himself during dinner on the second night, Jean couldn’t stand his silence any longer. He yearned to help Marco in any way he could. If he told him he would feel better alone then that’s what Jean would do, and wait for him to come to him when he was ready. But Jean was beginning to worry excessively. He needed to be told by Marco himself to leave him be. And if he could attempt to comfort Marco, that would be fine as well.

                Jean made his way to the treasury quickly and knocked softly on the door once he stood before it.

                “Marco,” he called, just loud enough for his voice to make it past the door. “Would you like some company?”

                Marco’s heavy footsteps made their way towards the door. When he swung the door open, his face revealed much the same exhaustion as his dragging steps did. The bags under his eyes were as present as ever. His hair was disheveled and the smile he plastered on to greet Jean wasn’t his smile at all.

                “Yes, of course,” he said. “I apologize for how much of a mess I’ve been.”

                Jean shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Your reaction is understandable. You’re upset because you finally have to face him, correct? He’s become _real_.”

                Marco shook his head. “I suppose that’s part of it. But, I also knew him. He was... passionate and good. We drifted away from each other when he was dealing badly with an ended relationship with a friend. And something changed in him, but I never thought- I never thought he’d ever think to do something like murder my brother.”

                Marco shook his head. “I can’t believe him. I keep trying to tell myself that it really could have been him, but it doesn’t seem _right_. It’s odd, thinking of someone you knew as a murderer. A murderer of your own family.”

                Jean brought Marco closer to him and held him. If he was right, the friend Marco spoke of was him. Together they had put him in such a poor mindset. One that he probably never fully recovered from. And he felt guilt. Guilt for choosing to become a pirate, and guilt for handling Eren so poorly.

                “I feel so guilty and afraid Jean, is that normal?”

                Jean swiped his thumbs over Marco’s cheeks as he pulled away just enough to face him. “I understand how you feel, Marco. I can feel it too, because I’m sure I was the friend who also broke his heart. It’s perfectly normal to brood as you have, and to feel guilty. And Eren is someone who is dangerous, you know first-hand how dangerous he can be. It’s perfectly acceptable to be afraid.”

                Marco smiled minutely. “Thank you for trying to reassure me, Jean.”

                “You’re just too hard on yourself,” Jean said. “Give yourself more credit. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be dead right now.”

                Marco hummed and stepped into Jean’s space.

                “I’m glad I met you,” Marco said softly; as soft as the kiss they shared not a moment after these words left Marco’s lips.

                Marco sighed and wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck.

                Jean tried his best to memorize the feeling of Marco’s lips. He mapped them out as he would a piece of his sea. Felt them move with his like the waves moved with his ship. The noises Marco made, the soft gasps and quiet moans like the whisper of the wind and the peaceful slosh of water.

                When they finally parted they breathed each other in and rested their foreheads together.

                “Come to bed with me,” Jean finally said.

                Marco breathed in sharply. “Jean, I- I don’t know...”

                “No, no,” Jean said, pulling away just slightly in his embarrassment. “I just meant sleep.”

                Marco gave him another chaste peck before nodding his agreement.

                That night, Jean felt his bed was more comfortable than it had been in a long time. It was natural to feel Marco curled up in his arms as they both fell into slumber under the bedsheets.

 

\---

 

                Jean woke with Marco’s wild morning hair tickling his nose. He smiled and kissed the crown of his head before pulling him closer.

                Marco sighed happily. He began moving around in the beginnings of wakefulness. Before long, he opened his eyes and looked blearily at Jean’s face with a sleepy smile and a wandering hand.

                Jean rubbed his nose against Marco’s. “Good morning.”

                Marco stifled a yawn and smiled. “Good morning, Jean.”

                They lay together under the covers for a while longer, not saying much. Instead they exchanged chaste kisses and quiet hums and laughter.

                “We should get up,” Jean said with a sigh. “Before Armin comes barging in and demands we have the breakfast he labored over.”

                Marco sat up. He stretched and Jean tried not to stare too hard at his bare torso. They tumbled out of bed together. They gathered their clothing and dressed quickly before stepping out of Jean’s cabin.

                There was a whistle above them that made Jean roll his eyes. He tangled his finger’s with Marco’s anyways, despite Reiner’s harassment.

                “It’s about time!” he called down to them.

                “Reiner!” Bertl hissed and sighed deeply. There were footsteps coming towards them and Jean turned to see Bertl heading towards them. “You know how he is, sorry. We’re glad for you. But, um, there’s something that you should know. There’s land up ahead. We’ll be at Shiganshina by the evening.”

                Jean nodded. “Thank you, Bertl.”

                Jean and Marco rushed down to get breakfast. It was a quiet affair. Not much was spoken between them, though they did enjoy each other’s presence. They held hands through their entire meal, even though Jean had a hard time eating his soup with his left hand. Marco laughed at him and mercifully let Jean’s hand go so he could eat without soiling the both of their clothes.

                “Are you alright now?” Jean asked.

                Marco nodded with a smile. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

                “You don’t have to come off the ship with us, you know.” Jean said after a few moment’s silence. He brushed his knuckles over Marco’s cheek with a kind smile. “You can stay here while we arrest him.”

                “No, no I want to come,” Marco said with a determined frown.

                “I’ll be by your side,” Jean said.

                “And I’ll be by yours.”

                They kissed each other quickly before cleaning up after their meal.

 

\---

 

                He and Marco lazed peacefully around the deck in their favorite spot. They spoke to each other, but of the subjects he was unsure. It was trivial things, he knew that much, or else he knew he would have remembered their conversations.

                Their day was also spent helping prepare for their arrival to Shiganshina. Marco changed into attire he wouldn’t be ridiculed for when they reached the city. And the both of them, as well as the rest of the crew armed themselves, picking from the pile of easily hidden weapons on the deck. The very last thing that they had to do was make sure the anchor was ready to be dropped.

                The time passed quickly because of their activity, quicker than any of them would have liked.

                After the sun set and the stars blazed in the peak of their brilliance, they finally made it to Shiganshina.

                Porting the ship didn’t take very long. Neither did unloading and readying themselves to stand on land once more.

                They were at the end of the dock not even an hour later, unsure of where to go now that they had made it so far.

                “Should we split up?” Connie asked. He peered down a dark street that they were near and quickly made his way back to the group. “I don’t like this place by the way. So I’m just gonna vote against that horrible idea.”

                “I agree. The last time we split up, Jean got into trouble,” Armin said. “We should stay together.”

                “But wouldn’t that draw a lot of attention?” Bertl asked. He linked his pinky with Reiner’s as he looked nervously around the dark city.

                “We’re not going to be hiding from Eren,” Armin pointed out. “We _want_ him to notice us, don’t we?”

                Jean nodded. “We stay together, then?”

                Marco laced his fingers with his. “We stay together.”

 

\---

 

                They wandered the night without a word spoken between them. Bertl and Reiner stood as close together as possible without tripping over each other. Connie and Armin also tried to find comfort in each other as they huddled close. Jean and Marco were towards the rear, with their fingers laced together.

                “It’s nearly morning,” Armin punctuated with a yawn.

                Jean sighed. “Let’s get some rest, we’ll continue afterwards.”

                Everyone nodded and hurried along to the nearest inn.

                When so many of them asked to be squeezed into two rooms the innkeeper raised an eyebrow but said nothing of it. Jean was glad. He couldn’t explain well that there were two couples in their group not uncomfortable with sharing a bed. And that he was on edge and wanted to keep the six of them as close together as possible for the remainder of their time there.

                “Excuse me,” Jean said once everyone but him had headed off to their rooms. “Have you seen someone by the name of Eren Jaeger in town? He’s a little shorter than myself, darkly tanned, with brown hair and these wonderfully green eyes you couldn’t forget.”

                The innkeeper shook her head. “He hasn’t checked into here before.”

                “Call one of us if you see him?” Jean said with a smile. “He’s a friend that’s gone missing, you see.”

                The innkeeper nodded her head and gave him a kind smile. “Of course.”    

                Jean rushed upstairs and reported to everyone that the innkeeper would be helping them look for Eren under the pretense that he was a missing friend. Then they all retired to their rooms for the day, intent on getting some much needed rest.

                Connie immediately flopped into his bed and mumbled. “Don’t get up to anything funny, I’d like a good night’s rest without having to worry about you defiling the queen.”

                Jean rolled his eyes. “We’re tired too, we’ll be sleeping.”

                Connie grunted once. “Good.”

                He was asleep before Marco stopped giggling and before Jean gave Marco a good punch in the arm.

                “Don’t defile the queen,” Marco teased.

                Jean rolled his eyes and wrapped him up in his arms.

 

\---

 

                They were woken by some rapid knocking on their door.

                “Sirs, I’ve seen him. He’s actually asking for you.”

                Jean hopped out of bed and quickly threw a pillow and blanket onto the floor, making them look as slept in as he could. Marco whimpered and reached his arms out.

                Jean, unable to resist, kissed his forehead.          

                “There’s someone at the door, I’ll be back.”

                He opened it in a rush.

                “Eren was here?”

                The innkeeper nodded and beamed. “Yes, still here in fact. He’s downstairs waiting for a Jean Kirschtein and Marco Bodt.”

                “I’m Jean,” he said. It had become harder suddenly for him to play excitement at finding Eren. Now he remembered why exactly he was looking for Eren and it seemed he would no longer be able to procrastinate finding out the truth about what really happened with Marco’s brother.

                “Marco and I will be down shortly, will you tell Eren so?” Jean asked and forced a beaming smile onto his face.

                “Of course,” the woman said with a small bow to her head. “He seemed eager to see you.”

                Once she had gone back down the hallway Jean shut the door and hurried over to Marco. He shook him as gently as he could under the circumstances.

                “Marco,” Jean said. He tried not to let his voice become strained with worry, or his grip to become too strong with his stress. “Marco, Eren is- he’s downstairs waiting for us.”

                Marco shot up into a sitting position and scrambled out of bed.

                “He’s here?” he said breathlessly.

                Jean only nodded. He was swept up into a tight hug by Marco, who also buried his face into Jean’s neck.

                “Jean,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see him. I’m afraid.”

                “I know. Marco, if you feel this way then don’t-”

                Marco tightened his grip. “No, you misunderstood me. I’m afraid of the revenge I want.” 

                Jean fell silent at that. They were words he didn’t expect from Marco. But then again, he was the one who knew he was still in denial over Eren. How could he trust his knowledge about what one would be feeling at a time like this?

                “Let’s wake the others,” Jean said softly.

                Marco nodded and pulled away. He traced Jean’s face gently with his fingertips. He leaned in and kissed him deeply, unable to truly say what he wanted, when words felt so heavy and disruptive.

                They pulled apart.

                Marco roused Connie from his sleep and quickly told him what had been going on as Jean dressed.

                It was a quick routine and all of them were gathered in the hallway before long, with daggers hidden away in their belts and boots and grim frowns on their faces.

                Jean turned. He took one quick breath and led them all downstairs.

 

\---

 

                There he sat at one of the breakfast tables. He was picking at his fingernails and looking bored, hardly like he was waiting for the man who had once betrayed him. He looked the same as he did all those years ago, except maybe a bit more haggard. He had stubble along his jaw and his already messy hair looked wild. His eyes- his eyes were the same astounding green but with something darker hidden behind their spectacular color.

                “Eren,” Jean said quietly. Marco beside him, sucked in a breath. He reached out quickly and wrapped his hand around Jean’s.

                Eren looked up. And he smiled. “Jean! It’s been quite a while I can’t believe it’s you!” Then he looked to Marco. “And Marco as well! Tell me, what have you been up to lately?”

                “The usual, really,” Jean answered slowly. It seemed as if Marco didn’t quite understand what was going on either because he looked Eren up and down quickly before casting a look towards Jean with an uneasy smile.

                Eren’s smile left him as quickly and suddenly as it had come. “Still living your life as a filthy pirate? Is that who everyone is behind you, your crew? I recognize two of the bastards.”

                “Yes,” Jean said. He moved in front of Marco a bit more, their hands still clasped together.

                Eren studied them. “It seems you’ve grown to know Marco as I did.”

                “Eren-” Marco said sharply but Eren only shook his head.

                “It- it hardly matters to me who you whore yourself out to,” Eren looked away from them. He scrutinized the outside through the window at his side.

                Jean gritted his teeth at his insult towards Marco. He could feel his crew shift behind him. Their hands were probably creeping down to their belts now, where their daggers awaited.

                “Cut the shit,” Jean hissed. “I presume you know what we’re here for.”

                “Haven’t a clue,” Eren drawled. He looked back towards them, but his jaw was set and Jean could hardly look at his eyes, for fear of what he would find in his dark pupils.

                “My brother, Eren, how could you-” Marco’s voice broke. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before he found it in himself to speak once more with gritted teeth. “How could you- _kill_ him.”

                Eren shrugged. “Why do you assume I was the one to do it?”

                “Because you hate me,” Jean said. “You framed me for the Prince’s death while simultaneously hurting Marco for whatever you think he had done to you.” 

                “So what if I killed him? I’m the captain of a navy squad now, I’m nearly untouchable when it comes to the law. And _you_ are a pirate, you have no place enforcing the law.”

                “No, but Marco does. And as his charge, I also have a place in finding and arresting you.”

                “You don’t have a leg to stand on,” Connie said suddenly. “Not with all of Trost on the lookout for you. That’s a serious crime that you’ve committed, you know. There are a lot of pissed off people who don’t give a damn who you are, as long as their Prince is avenged.”

                Eren stood and looked at Jean and his crew with his chin raised and his eyes blazing. “You think I’d let _you_ take me prisoner?”

                “I never expected you to _let_ me take you. I fully expect a fight. I knew you, Eren. You don’t go down easy. But we’re going to be taking you in for your crimes.”

                “Why are you painting yourselves as the victims here?” Eren asked. He circled the table until he was mere feet away from Jean.

                “Why are _you_?” Jean said. “You framed me and killed Marco’s brother.”

                “And you _left_ me. You both did, when I needed you.”

                Marco inched forward. “I’m so sorry Eren. I never know how much you were hurting. I was young and the stress of my duties had me concerned with my own interest. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left you so abruptly, but my leaving you should have never brought about a murder as revenge. You have gone too far.”

                Eren shook his head. “He wouldn’t have been a good monarch anyhow. He was too impulsive from what I’d seen. He’d nearly put you in danger many times by nearly revealing our affair. And when he caught us he was much too harsh with you.”

                “It was only a verbal thrashing, it could have been much worse.”

                “When he went power-hungry as a King perhaps.”

                “Eren, _please_ -” Marco said. Jean gently tugged Marco behind him again. He wanted to comfort him but there wasn’t much he could do besides squeeze his hand and brush his thumb soothingly over his wrist.

                Eren turned away from them again. It put everyone on edge, being unable to see his face. They were tense and Jean was now very sure that they all had their weapons nearly unsheathed.

                “You look like your brother,” Eren whispered after a time. “I saw him through the window and thought it was you.”

                Jean then shoved Marco behind him, eyes trained on Eren and his dagger unsheathed.

                “I was in the mentality that if I couldn’t have you, no one could,” Eren continued. “I realize now that was wrong and that my actions were rash. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it certainly doesn’t mean I will be coming with you before we settle out disputes.”

                “How do you propose we do that,” Jean said. He was uneasy and he could feel himself growing tenser. His shoulders and neck were beginning to become sore and his legs shook with nerves and adrenaline.

                Eren turned back around and pointed at Marco. “I was in love with you. I would never touch another man or woman the way I did you, but you left me when I _needed_ you. And _you_ ,” he turned his finger towards Jean. “You were my best friend. And what did you do? You joined the people who killed my mother.”

                “I’m sorry, Eren,” Jean said. “I never thought of you when I became a pirate, not once. But I- I felt there was no justice in the way pirates were being treated, I couldn’t just stand aside as they were being mistreated.”

                Eren laughed. “It’s adorable that the two of you are apologizing to me _now._ It’s been _years_ ,” he shouted. Jean was glad there was no one in the inn at the moment. The woman who fetched them had disappeared. “Do you really think that after my rage has festered for this long your filthy apologies would make me feel better? Especially when you, Marco, are clinging to your new lover as if your life depends on him and you, Jean, are still skipping about as a _pirate_.”

                “You’ve had your revenge on the both of us, Eren, what more do you want?”

                “We will settle our disputes with a fight,” Eren said. “If you win you get to carry along your merry way and take me into custody. But if _I_ win, then Marco will be with me once more and you and your crew will die.”

                “No deal,” Jean said. He shook his head. “Marco isn’t mine to give, and neither are the lives of my crew.”

                Eren frowned. “What will convince you then?” He drew a knife from his belt and twirled it in his fingers. “A threat?”

                Jean’s crew drew their daggers then, the drag of metal against leather playing shortly before the quiet shuffling of feet took over.

                “We won’t let you harm anyone,” Reiner said.

                “Like you didn’t let anyone get harmed in your first crew?” Eren said. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I can’t believe you’d have the audacity to say something like that. Not after you attempted to attack Trost. My _home.”_

                Eren then withdrew his knife, stepping forward just a little more.

                “Stop, Eren,” Marco said. He moved in front of Jean quickly and pushed him back further before Jean could even protest. Marco shook his head. “What’s happened to you?”

                Eren pointed at Marco and Jean with his knife, waggling it between the two of them. “You two happened. You both came into my life and broke my heart.”

                “Eren-” Marco said. His voice broke and he reached out helplessly. He had loved Eren once, but those times were long over. However, he still wished deeply that Eren could be happy. He still wished he didn’t have to feel like he needed to change and become this- this horrible person who killed and deceived because the two people he loved the most didn’t give him what he deserved back then.

                Eren grabbed onto Marco’s outstretched hand and for a moment Marco hoped. As Eren tugged him forward he hoped they would embrace and reconcile and forget that there had ever been a feud between them. Marco and Jean could live happily together and maybe Eren could bring himself to forgive them enough to call them his friends.

                But when Marco was brought to Eren’s chest, he was twisted around and slammed against him with a piece of sharp, cold metal pressed against his neck and he knew that Eren would never forgive them. They had been too late, done too much damage to Eren to ever earn his forgiveness.

                Jean moved forward hastily only to stop when the blade dug into Marco’s neck just enough to send a small trickle of blood rolling down his neck.

                “Stop,” Jean said. His hands visibly shook as he gripped his knife even tighter. “ _Stop, please.”_

                “Then take my deal,” Eren said. “Do it, or I’ll kill all of you, starting with Marco.”

                “I-I can’t,” Jean said. “Their lives aren’t mine, they’re not mine. I _can’t.”_

                There was a solid hand that gripped his shoulder and he turned to find Armin clasping him, steadying him with such a simple touch.

                “Take the deal. We have the utmost faith in you.”

                Jean turned his gaze to the rest of his crew with their set jaws and nods of affirmation. Then Jean turned to Marco who, despite everything, gave him a soft smile before mouthing the words Jean had a feeling he would.

                _Do it._

                Jean breathed deeply. He gritted his teeth and shook his head, but he still said what he needed to. “I’ll do it. I accept the deal.”

                “Splendid,” Eren withdrew his knife and shoved Marco forward. Jean caught him up in his arms and turned to the side, partially shielding him with his own body. “We’ll meet when it’s dark once more, at the gallows. Bring your sword and armor.”

                Eren exited the inn then and left Jean and his crew to gape at the place he had left.

                Jean and Marco slid to their knees, still clinging to each other.

                “Are you alright?” Jean asked. He brushed his fingers through Marco’s hair gently, and looked into his eyes. Marco nodded and buried his face in the crook of Jean’s neck.

                “Are you?”

                “Yes- yes, I think so,” Jean murmured.

                Connie whistled. “Well.”

                Reiner and Bertl inserted their own nervous laughs and collapsed on the chairs nearby. Reiner brought Bertl’s head to his chest and sighed.

                “That was the most action I’d seen since- well, a long while.”

                “That’s not something to really admire, Reiner,” Bertl said quietly.

                Armin shook his head. “I think we’d be better off packing our things. I doubt the innkeeper would let us stay after that mess.”

                “You’re probably right,” Jean said. His voice was slightly muffled, for his mouth and nose were buried in Marco’s soft hair. “We should pack and leave here.”

                “Where would we go?” Connie asked. “This island isn’t all that large from what I’d seen. I doubt there’s another inn. There may be, but that’s only if we’re extremely lucky.”

                “We’ll be sleeping at home,” Jean said.

                Reiner groaned. “I was hoping we’d be sleeping in real beds for more than one night.”

                “It’s not like you were having much sleep last night,” Armin muttered. When Reiner shot him a frown and Bertl whimpered in horror, Armin merely rolled his eyes. “You two are the least discreet people I have ever had the displeasure of coming across you know, don’t give me those looks.”

                The rest of them laughed at Reiner and Bertl’s dispense. The mood had been lifted, and Jean felt a glimmer of hope at the upcoming battle. He had things to fight for. A family, a man he loved. But Eren had nothing other than revenge fueling his ire. Maybe he could defeat him. Maybe they would all be alright. Maybe Jean could sail away into the night with his crew and keep his promise to Marco.

               

\---

 

                There wasn’t much to do for the preparation of Jean’s dual. His cutlass was sharp and his shield was in fairly good shape. He merely had to polish his armor, which only consisted of a hauberk and a simple helm, and he would be ready for the match. But he could hardly polish it for the entire day, and soon he was left with nothing to do except brood over his fateful brawl.

                Marco found Jean leaning against the railing and staring into the distance as he usually did. But this time, he wasn’t looking at the infinite expanse of the sea, and all the adventures he was sure to find there, he was looking into the city. At its black alleys and grayish buildings all the more shrouded by the mist that curled around the town. Marco couldn’t see too far and he wondered why Jean looked upon it so intently.

                “Jean,” he called softly.

                Jean blinked and snapped his head towards Marco’s voice. He didn’t relax when he looked at Marco. His shoulders were still stiff and his muscles looked like they were locked in place. But he did smile.

                “Marco.”

                “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

                Jean shook his head. “I’d never mind your company.”

                Marco settled beside him and leaned a little against his side. “Whatever happened with you and Eren?” Marco asked quietly.

                Jean sighed and shook his head. “When I was in the navy Eren and I were close, and the best of friends. But my doubts began to manifest around the time I stumbled across Reiner and Bertl. They were being treated poorly, being tortured and Reiner was about to be killed when one man began having too much fun. I stopped him and I helped the two of them escape. And then I joined them.”

                Marco winced. Eren’s parents were killed by pirates. Reiner and Bertl probably weren’t of the same crew, but to Eren, all pirates were the same.

                “What of you?” Jean said. He nudged Marco and peered at him with an eyebrow raised.

                Marco sighed. “We were lovers, yes. But I began falling out of love with him. It didn’t help that I was under much stress because of my teachings in being Prince, and he began changing, becoming more bitter and obsessed with destroying pirates then too. It was too much, so I left him.”

                Jean nodded. He leaned his head against Marco’s shoulder.

                “I know what I did was best for me, but sometimes I can’t help but feel guilty for leaving Eren for the group that killed his mother and father. And now the regret is even worse. You’re in danger because of it and so is my crew.”

                Marco cupped his cheek and gently directed Jean’s eyes towards him.

                “You did what was best for you, and so did I. We shouldn’t blame ourselves for the way Eren poorly handled his situation.”

                Marco nuzzled his face into Jean’s neck and planted a small kiss there.

                Jean tangled his fingers into Marco’s hair and held him flush against him. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze of the day across his body and the smell of Marco and the sea- the smell of home.

                They kissed under the sun and whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears until Armin came up to them, clearing his throat and shifting his eyes around the deck awkwardly.

                “We need to know what you want us to do, Jean,” he said, finally making eye contact with Jean.

                Jean detached himself from Marco slowly and followed Armin to the kitchen where everyone was gathered. Their heads were bowed and their lips pursed. The air was solemn and the realization that Jean was fighting for all of their lives came crashing down on him like the violent waves of a storm.

                Everyone’s heads raised as Jean strode into the kitchen. Their eyes flicked across his face, searching for something to cling to, like children waiting for their parents to give them a signal during a distressing situation.

                “I don’t want any of you to fight,” Jean began once he settled in a chair. He studied his nails as he picked at them. “Eren and I need to settle this ourselves.”

                “I don’t like that you’re the only one who has to fight,” Marco said. He gripped Jean’s shoulder tightly and shook his head. “Eren and I also have things we need to settle. You shouldn’t be the only one to carry that burden.”

                “I don’t know what he wants,” Jean said. He sighed and buried his head in his hands. “Stay out of it, Marco, _please._ I’ll protect you, all of you, with everything I have.”

                “But we can’t just leave it to you, we’re not property to be fought over, like a herd of cattle,” Bertl mumbled.

                “I know,” Jean said. “But I don’t know if Eren is going to leave us much choice.”

                No one said a word. It wasn’t reassuring to Jean that his crew seemed to agree with him.

                “Doesn’t,” Armin began. He bit his lip and paused for a moment. “Doesn’t Eris owe you something?”

                “It’s the other way around,” Jean said. “We trespassed on her territory and killed her pets. We’re lucky she left us off with only that.”

                “What was the favor?” Armin asked. His pointer finger was crooked in front of his lips and he was staring intently at the floor, as if it would give him all of the answers they had been searching for.

                “She said I had to kill Eren, or else I would be walking the Earth for eternity until I succeeded. And not just myself, but all of you, my entire crew.”

                Armin shook his head. “That isn’t helpful in the least.”

                “No,” Jean agreed. “I need to carry out the deal with my own means. Eris wouldn’t help me at a time like this.”

                “I imagine she wouldn’t.”

                Marco kneeled beside Jean. He leaned into his lap and wrapped his arms around his waist as he folded closer to him. Jean brought his hand down and stroked his hair reflexively.

                It was silent for a long while.

                “We should probably go now,” Armin said. He returned from the window, where he had seen the sun setting.

                Jean stood and helped Marco to his feet. Everyone embraced each other then. They moved from one person to the next until they were misty-eyed and feeling even more unwilling to leave the walls of their beloved vessel. 

                “We have all our faith in you, fearless leader,” Connie said with a crooked smile.

                “You’ll do what needs to be done.” Reiner nodded.

                Jean smiled at all of his crew.

                He was the first to leave. Then the rest followed him in a morose procession down to the end of the dock.

                It was empty when they arrived. There were a few people hurrying to and fro, doing their last minute chores before night descended.

                They waited. They waited for nearly an hour in an anxious silence before Eren finally revealed himself. There was a group consisting of a few others tailing behind him. All of them had longswords hanging from their belts, or spears slung across their back.

                “Pleasure to see you again,” Eren said. His voice was flat and he wasn’t smiling or sneering or frowning. He looked empty and Jean wasn’t quite sure how to react. “Oh, and there was one other thing that I thought may make this all the more interesting.”

                Marco came even closer to Jean. He held his hand so tightly, Jean wondered if his bones would break.

                “We should fight until one of us dies,” Eren said.

                Jean shook his head. “I can’t kill you, Eren. I won’t.”

                Eren sighed. “But _I_ want to, and will, kill _you_.”

                Eren then lunged and pulled Jean forward. Marco’s grip was ripped from him and Jean was left with no more support or reassurance behind him. It was only him and Eren at the dock.

                “I don’t care what you do,” Eren said. “But I will kill you in the end, if I win. I thought it’d be a bit more interesting if our fate ended just the same.”

                Jean reached towards his scabbard and drew his sword. He felt slow, in this armor. It had been so long since he had worn any. He was reckless and fought his battles with nothing but the clothing on his back. And now he was paying for it with the inexperience with his armor.

                Eren didn’t seem to have this problem. In fact, his armor seemed to be a second skin. He moved well with it and it wasn’t a tad too big, like it was for Jean. And it also held more protection from attacks than Jean’s hauberk did, as it was solid. It might have been from the navy as well, for the emblem on its breast seemed prestigious; a unicorn with a shield framing its head.

                While their armor was skewed in Eren’s favor, their weaponry was about the same. Both of their swords were well polished and the edges gleamed as nastily as their bites would sting. Not a bit of the metal was rusted, and the grips were sturdy.

                Jean was the first to raise his sword. He was shaking just slightly as he pointed it towards Eren’s chest. The weight of his armor and cutlass was making him unsteady, and his still lingering hesitation was not helping matters in the least.

                Eren also raised his sword. His did not waver one bit.

                Jean breathed in deeply and breathed out slowly. He gathered his bearings and managed to steady himself further with thoughts of Marco and his crew sending him their faith and love. He knew he had to win this. He was _going to_ win. For them.

                “Are you going to strike first or shall I?” Eren asked. “We don’t have all night.”

                Jean gritted his teeth. He said nothing and didn’t move other than to pivot when Eren began to prowl around him.

                “I can’t believe I have to do everything myself,” Eren said. He smiled and lunged forward.

 

\---

 

                Jean liked fighting. He liked the rush of it, when he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins and all of his senses were working in over time. But this was different. There was no thrill, only fear. There was too much pressure in this fight, too much at risk. It was more than merely a tousle for some treasure, it was a fight for his own life, for his crew’s lives, for Marco’s life.

                And Jean was slow.

                He knew he could be faster, he had been much faster before. But it had been a long time since he’d done any sort of exercise besides hauling more supplies onto the ship. And the armor was heavier than he thought it would be, after years of being unused, he was no longer used to the weight of armor when he fought.

                Jean lunged forward. His cutlass just barely managed to scrape along Eren’s armor. He lost his footing for a moment, but that was all Eren needed to thrust his sword right into Jean’s poorly protected forearm.

                Jean cried out but spared no thought to his injury. He began dancing around Eren more carefully, however he didn’t cradle his wound or try to alleviate it.

                Out of the corner of his eye, Jean saw his crew. Bertl was clinging to Reiner. Connie and Armin held onto Marco tightly as he jerked his arms and jumped forward. But there was nothing on his face. Not a hint of grief or hope, and that scared Jean more than anything.

                Eren danced in his vision again, and Jean responded as quickly as he could. He moved backwards, but not before Eren had managed to slice at his torso. Jean gritted his teeth. His armor had mostly protected him, but he was still scratched and he could feel blood welling over his stomach, where Eren had sliced him open.

                Jean danced around him once again, but Eren finally took advantage of their difference in speeds. He lunged. Jean parried. But it didn’t stop Eren’s sword from sliding over Jean’s and slicing up Jean’s dominant wrist. He bit his lip and groaned. Then he moved backwards again. He didn’t dare look at the faces of his crew.

                Jean gripped his sword with both hands and held it so it covered his torso. It shook with his effort and he tried to pretend he wasn’t struggling so much with holding up his single-handed sword.

                Jean would win. For them, for his crew, he would win.

                Jean swung his cutlass when Eren seemed to let his sword tip just a bit lower, exposing his chest. He thrusted at full speed. The cutlass’ metal gleamed in the lights from the buildings. Everything slowed. In the moments before his sword hit its mark he grit his teeth and pushed his weapon even faster with a small cry.

                The point of his cutlass hit Eren’s chest.

                And ricocheted off of his armor. Jean swung with the momentum of his sword and collided with Eren.

                There was a moment of stillness. The waves of the ocean made not a sound and neither did the people surrounding the fight, or Eren and Jean themselves.

                Then Jean screamed and fell to the ground.

                He clutched at his side with gritted teeth. His breath turned ragged and he could feel whimpers claw their way up his throat as he lay there on the cold ground.

                Jean turned his head and searched for his sword, which had flown from his grip at some point. He saw it laying there dully against the cobblestones, no longer lit from the lights of the city. He reached toward it and just managed to get his fingers to touch the hilt, when it disappeared.

                Eren’s foot was stepping on his fingers and his sword had been kicked further than Jean was sure he could drag himself.

                Jean looked up as Eren towered over him. Now his entire hand was under Eren’s boot.

                “You’re quite determined,” Eren said.

                Jean tried to shift and pull his hand out from under Eren, but he was weak. He was so weak. When he shifted, he could feel a wetness underneath and when he spared a glance down most of what he saw was blood. He had created a red stain on the cobblestones. The red mark on his side was large and getting darker as the seconds ticked by. It was probably enough to even make standing a challenge.

                He heard it. There was a frantic cry and an obvious scuffle as Marco shouted his name over and over again. Jean tried escaping again. He managed to lift himself with one hand. But he buckled and fell down once again, the impact aggravating his wound even further. He tried again. His hands desperately tried to get a hold on the ground so he could push himself up. But he couldn’t hold himself up long enough to pull away from Eren. He had to restart, again and again. And again.

                Eren finally released him after much more struggling. This time, when Jean hoisted himself up, he managed to bring himself to a half-crouch. And then, Eren kicked at Jean’s wound. He went toppling over again, howling as he clutched at his wound again.

                “You can’t beat me, not like this,” Eren said. He kicked again. The heel of his boot struck the hand that covered Jean’s gaping side.

                Jean didn’t even cry out. He sobbed and turned, so his side was hidden closer to the ground. And he curled in on himself. He was so weak.

                Eren grabbed his hair and arm and dragged him up until they were face to face.

                “I think we both know who’s won this match,” Eren said.

                Jean lashed out. His fist connected with Eren’s jaw with a satisfying sound. Eren let go of him and caught himself with one hand on the ground as the other cupped his jaw.

                He shook his head and brought his hand away from his face. “Was that really going to tip the fight in your favor. _Look at you_.”

                Jean shook his head. “I had to try. I’m weak. I can see that now. And what else are the weak supposed to do if not take a chance at the odds against them?” 

                Eren growled. “You’ve _lost_. I won’t fight someone who can hardly stand, much less grip his sword and fight me like a man.” Eren kicked him once more. That was it. When Jean fell to the ground, the world spun and he wasn’t quite sure he would ever get up from the cobblestones again.

                Eren turned to the ring of people surrounding them. None of them were still. They all fought and wrestled, Marco was already attempting to whirl through the crowd. “Rally them up. There’s a deal Jean and I made that we must carry out.”

 

\---

 

                At Eren’s order, his men tried even harder to subdue them. But they only succeeded in causing more confusion and chaos. Marco took this opportunity to rush towards Jean. But he was stopped with a sword to his chest.

                A man, shorter than Marco and more fair in both skin tone and hair, stood before him with a wicked grin on his face.

                “Where on earth do you believe you’re going?”

                “Let me go,” Marco said. It was quiet and the man laughed at his face. He must have thought Marco felt helpless, or even scared. How wrong he could have been. “Let me _go.”_

                Marco launched himself at the man. He smacked his hand and sent the sword flying to the ground. Then he brought his fist back. He punched the man as hard as he could. It was enough to send him toppling to the ground with a surprised yelp. Marco bolted before he could even think of gathering himself up once more.

                “Jean!” he said. He reached his side. It took everything for him not to shout, or fall to his knees and sob.

                Jean’s breath was as ragged as his side. Marco couldn’t get a good glimpse of his wound, his armor was in the way, but with the blood pooling around him, Marco knew there was nothing good to be seen.

                “Jean,” he said quietly. He wanted to hold him in his arms and protect him, but he was unsure of how much he could move Jean without injuring him even further. So he settled for grasping his hand. He could feel the blood dripping from his arms there, still warm and wet as he clasped desperately to Jean’s fingers. “Jean, please be alright. Please be-”

                Marco was cut off as an arm wrapped around his throat and pulled him backwards with a jerk. His breath left him in a single rush and his view of Jean was replaced with the view of the dark sky above him. He kicked and flailed around the ground, with nothing on his mind other than, _I have to get back to Jean._

                He was lifted and for a foolish moment, Marco thought he was able to escape, but then he was slammed back to the ground and the air that had remained in his lungs left in an instant. He could do nothing but cough and splutter, trying to regain the precious breath he had lost.

                There was a weight leaning over him and Marco’s wheezing only worsened with the person over his chest, making it even harder to breath.

                Hot breath puffed over his ear. He shuddered and tried to squirm away but he was too short of breath to do much for himself.

                “I wouldn’t worry about tending to his wounds. Eren’s got some plans for him, that doesn’t even require him to _breathe,”_ the man laughed and added almost as an afterthought. “Doesn’t require him to have a heartbeat either.”

                “Here,” another voice said. Marco’s breath nearly left him again. It was Eren hovering over them, handing a rag to the man. “Give this to him. He’ll be putting up a fight soon, I guarantee it.”

                The man took the rag and wasted not a moment before he shoved it over Marco’s face.

                Marco struggled against him once more. He managed to partially move out from under him, but it wasn’t enough. The sweetness of the rag was all he could sense other than the eery silence around him.

                His eyelids began to droop and when he lashed out at the man above him, he only managed a weak smack at his chest before he was plunged into darkness.

 

\---

 

                Marco awoke to laughter and the clinking of glasses. It took him a moment to remember what had happened before he became unconscious. Only then was he met with the jarring reality of what had transpired during the night, and that he was not on the ship. He wasn’t in Jean’s bed, or in his bunk, rather he was tied to a stiff, wooden chair.

                “He’s awake,” someone whispered.

                Eren’s face loomed in Marco’s vision not a moment after the observation. He gripped Marco’s chin roughly. “Welcome back, my Marco. Now that you’ve slept I have a small piece of entertainment for you.”

                Eren stepped back. Marco felt his chair being scraped back until he was facing a wooden structure.

                It was the gallows of Shiganshina.

                “Bring them up!” someone shouted.

                There were a few minutes of activity before Reiner and Bertl, stripped of every shred of clothing, except for their undergarments, were shoved onto the gallows and forced to stand as men tied heavy-looking ropes around their necks.

                Bertl was crying. But both of their hands were tied and there was nothing Reiner could do to comfort his lover except an attempt to catch his eye and smile at him.

                When their eyes meet, Bertl seemed to only cry harder.

                The floor under them fell, and so did they.

                Reiner went limp at the end of his rope. He did not move save for his body twisting and waving slightly from his momentum.

                But Bertl was not so fortunate.

                He flailed and jerked, pulling so hard on his bindings that his wrists sliced open and trails of blood travel down his hand and dripped from his fingers.

                The noises he made were ragged and desperate. Marco wanted to cover his ears. But there was nothing he could do but close his eyes until Eren ordered the gallows to be cleared and the next two to be brought up.

                It was only then that Marco peeked his eyes open.

                The next two that were brought to brought to their demise were Connie and Armin.

                Marco had not realized he had been crying so much until he sobbed loudly. It brought to his attention the pounding in his head and the wetness that drenched his cheeks. He shook his head and looked away, just as the sound of the ropes going taught reached his ears.

                Again, the ragged sounds that Bertl had made, just before he’d asphyxiated were just loud enough for Marco to hear. It sounded like it was coming from the both of them.

                And Marco cried. He cried and sobbed and screamed at Eren to stop.

                “Just a few more minutes, Marco,” Eren murmured. Marco looked up towards Eren, but he could barely perceive anything. Tears clouded his vision, blurring everything together.

                But even through his tears, Eren did not look the least bit pleased. In fact, he was frowning and his eyebrows were scrunched together, like when he and Marco had to speak to each other of unpleasant things, usually after fights.

                Marco looked towards the gallows once more.

                He blinked away enough tears to see Jean there before his vision clouded again.

                He shook his head, tears coming ever faster from his eyes as the seconds ticked by.

                “You can’t do this,” he managed to say around his tight throat. “You can’t. You can’t. _Please, don’t do this!”_

_But the sound of the rope going taught reached Marco’s ears. And there was nothing he could do. For all of their deaths he had sat uselessly tied to a chair. All of them could no longer pump blood through their veins or take a breath, or see the sunlight ever again. He had done nothing but cry as they died.  And he couldn’t even bring himself to look at them._

                There seemed to be an extended moment where all Marco could hear was Jean’s struggle at the end of his rope. Marco opened his mouth no sound escaped him. He didn’t wail. His screams seemed to be caught in his throat, but his tears were still flowing down his face. And all was silent.

                It was done.

                They were all dead.

 

\---

 

                Marco looked out over the railing of his balcony, towards the sea. He played with the ring Jean had given him, and brought it up to his mouth to kiss the gemstones in it on occasion.

                There was a thin mist lying over the city of Trost. The ocean’s gentle sounds were loud enough to carry itself towards his ears. The breeze carried the salty scent of the sea, and the city around him was peaceful.

                But there was one thing his heart still yearned. He wanted the touch of Jean, he wanted a final kiss from him, he wanted to fall asleep beside him.

                He wanted to leave the confines of his castle, which he had been locked inside of.

                His father had died during his time at sea. An illness took him peacefully in his sleep, leaving Marco to uphold the title of King, and rule Trost with his new and sudden engagement to Eren Jaeger.

                Because of this the castle was not truly his and neither was Trost. Eren oversaw everything that went on within their walls, including how far Marco could wander into the city, which was not at all. He could only go as far as the docks that were very nearly in their own backyard.

                He often sat there on days he needed to leave the castle, when it all became too much.

                And despite everything, Eren never touched him, not to kiss him, not even to let their skin brush against each other in their wakeful hours. They merely shared a bed during the night, and even then, Marco would turn away from him and they both would sleep as far from each other as they could.

                He had never felt lonelier.

                He missed it, the closeness he felt with everyone on Jean’s ship.

                Marco hastily wiped away the tears that had formed in his eyes and dripped down his cheeks.

                When his hand didn’t obstruct his vision any more and moved from his face, he saw a ship revealing itself in the mist. Its details were hard to make out, but even then Marco could tell the poor ship had gone through much. The sails were tattered and it puttered along to the deck that was hardly ever used, save for Eren when he made small voyages with his men, or when important mariners set sail. Whoever the crew was must have been lost, or so badly damaged they ignored their direct course towards the castle of their small country. 

                Marco watched the ship sail closer curiously. He had not seen a foreign ship for so long. It was intriguing, and he wondered if he should go down to the dock to greet them. Surely, by that time, they would be close enough for him to identify their Jolly Roger.

                Marco, having made up his mind, reentered the night through the door that led out to the docks. He rushed to the edge of the outer dock and waited for their arrival there.

                What he saw astonished him.

                On the bottom of the ship there were long scratches, like the ones underneath Jean’s ship from when he had scraped against the rocks during his battle with the sirens.

                Almost afraid to, Marco’s eyes trailed further and further upwards until his eyes met the main sail. There, torn and faded as if it were subjected to a storm for years, were the wings of freedom.

                Marco stumbled backwards, until he was standing warily on the cobblestones once more.

                They had left the ship floating at the dock, so it was not unlikely that it was stolen or sold to another. But why had it turned up _there,_ right next to Marco’s castle?

                Marco could see someone swinging from mast to mast and told himself it was not Connie. It _couldn’t_ be.

                He stayed there, gaping, as the ship came ever closer and eventually docked next to where he had once been standing.

                A rope ladder was thrown over the side and thumped heavily on the wood of the dock.

                Marco did not move a muscle, not even when the first man crawled down the ladder recklessly. He fell to the ground gracefully and immediately turned towards Marco.

                “You- you can’t be,” Marco whispered. He fell to his knees as the rest of the crew moved down the ladder, one by one.

                Marco was sure he had finally begun to lose his mind. He had been lonely and grieving for nearly a year. It wasn’t uncommon for people to begin hallucinating after experiencing those emotions for so long.

                Jean walked towards him quickly, quicker than he had ever been before they were separated and crouched in front of him. His hand hovered between himself and Marco, before he slowly withdrew it and clutched it against his chest.

                Marco immediately touched his ring and twisted it along his finger.

                “I-” Jean said. He cast his eyes down to the ground and remained silent.

                Armin came up from behind him and smiled, as he always did when he was trying to be reassuring. “We’ve returned to you.”

                Marco opened his mouth. For a few minutes nothing came out except for aborted words until he finally regained himself enough to complete a sentence.

                “You’re- you’re all alive?”

                Armin smiled even wider. “Well, not quite.”        

                “You’re ghosts, come to haunt me?” Marco asked. It must have been hard for them to rest, knowing that one of them had lived and done nothing to prevent their deaths.

                “No,” Jean said. He finally looked up. With a new life in his eyes, he wrapped one of Marco’s hands in his. His skin was cold, so cold, but Marco didn’t reject his touch. He could never, no matter how cold Jean could be. “Eris cursed us. The deal we had made was for me to kill Eren. But when I failed, she brought me back, and threatened to have my crew and I spend eternity cursed like we are, until I kill Eren. Do you remember me telling you of that?”

                “Yes, I-I remember now,” Marco glanced over his shoulder to the castle and turned back to Jean. “Have you come to lift your curse then?”

                “No,” Jean said. “There are things I must do yet.”

                “You’re leaving again?” Marco asked. He came closer to Jean, until their foreheads were pressed together.

                “I must,” Jean said.

                “Then _please_ ,” Marco kissed Jean quickly. “ _Please,_ take me with you.”

                Jean closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

                Marco could feel his throat beginning to constrict, and his breath beginning to hitch. “Why not?”

                “Whoever joins our crew is cursed as well, and I cannot do this to you, Marco. I cannot let you be burned from a stray piece of sunlight or live off the blood of animals we’d managed to find in the dead of night.”

                Marco looked at Jean then, fully in the eyes. “You- you can't be. Are you- you're all vrykolakas?”

                Jean nodded. "Vampires, yes."

                Reiner stepped in and bowed at Marco, who was still clinging to Jean.

                “We’ll see you again, my queen.”

                Armin and Connie, who were behind him mimicked his actions with a shared smirk, and Bertl joined them eventually as well.

                Armin whimpered and threw himself on Marco. He embraced him tightly before pulling away.

                “W-we do promise we’ll be here again to pester you,” Connie said with a small smile.

                Connie, Reiner and Bertl, also embraced Marco with more whispered sentiments before retreating back to the ship with damp eyes and shaky breaths.

                Marco looked towards Jean, and kissed him with everything he had been holding back in the year they had been apart.

                “I wish we’d made love,” Marco said quietly, when they broke away for breath.

                “I do as well,” Jean said. “But I’ll have you when I come back once again, for good.”

                “Don’t _leave_ ,” Marco sobbed once more and shook his head. “Please don’t leave again.”

                “We’ll come back for you,” Jean said. He cupped Marco’s face again gently. “ _I’ll_ come back for you. I’d made a promise to you.” He tapped at Marco’s ring and smiled.

                They kissed again, deeply, and then Jean was gone.

                The ship set sail again after the anchor had been lifted and the ship began to disappear back into the fog it had materialized from.

                He watched them go until he could no longer tell the difference between the sails of the ship and the fog. He watched them until he was struck again with his crushing loneliness and the hope of the promise Jean meant to keep.


End file.
